Hunt or be Hunted: The 205th Hunger Games
by ToxicatedRose
Summary: The rebellion has been destroyed. District Thirteen has been subdued. The Capitol rises, more powerful than ever. With that, it aims to show Panem and the rest of the world the extremes it is prepared to go to in order to exert its power. There will be more tributes, more pain and more twists than ever before: the Capitol has spoken.
1. And so it Begins

**Tobias Harte, Head Gamemaker**

One of the biggest rewards I got from being Head Gamemaker, other than near incalculable wealth and influence, was the ability to get a Panem-wide permit which was a privilege only very few got to enjoy. I very rarely strayed out of the Capitol – I didn't have any desire to go to any of the less wealthy Districts – but I made one exception:

A large lodge I had bought, in the Eastern part of Central Panem, close to District Nine, was situated so that I was secluded in the mountains and free to think; it was only a one or two hour journey from the Capitol via hovercraft. I enjoyed how secluded it was, far away from any hotspot of population. Sometimes, if you looked out into the night, you could see the glittering lights of a small city of the outskirts of Nine.

The best thing was the snow. Being surrounded by snow made me feel so relaxed. I enjoyed watching the mountains around collect all of it. When I was calm and alone, I was usually inspired in my large, secluded house.

I sat down at an office desk, sketches of potential arenas stretched out before me as I watched the snow slowly fall outside. In the background I could hear the Capitolian news, often interrupted by poor signal:

"The daughter of the murdered teenager, Franceska Gordon, has called for the citizens of Panem to collect together to oppose the senseless violence experienced by the rebels," the newsreporter said seriously. "In response, Mayor Saffell of District Eight has launched _'Operation Piranha'_ , which aims to purge all of the rebels responsible for the kidnapping of his grandson and the many other acts of terrorism committed by known rebels."

A different voice was heard, a woman's. It sounded clogged up and emotional:

"I do not care what you believe," she announced. I turned to see the crying mother, who had the Victor Mirane Saffell stood solemnly behind her as she talked to a press team. "The rebels don't oppose the Capitol. They oppose us all. They oppose Panem. They oppose District Eight."

The news cut away to the reporter again:

"Many responses, some government led, some led by brave citizens, have attempted to avenge those we have lost due to the brutal rebels," the news reporter said as pictures of blown up wreckages and other rebel crimes were shown. I watched a segment of District Two citizens are barricading their way into a shop, dragging out its owners and beating them to death while Peacekeepers merely looked on disinterestedly. "The President has commended the brave efforts of these citizens in an official statement, and encourages us to be prepared to report any rebel activity to the authorities, or to take matters into your own hands: destroy them, boycott them, suppress them, and remember that they are always watching."

"In brighter news," the camera switched to the extremely handsome Caecilius Norton, who was also Panem's official Hunger Games interviewer. He had a charisma that surrounded him, and had a knack at making any news sound positive: "District Thirteen have officially elected their first Mayor, who has promised to integrate District Thirteen into Panem. After multiple conferences, the provisional government of Thirteen have agreed on a twenty point plan to congeal with Panem-" This would be the first official announcement, the biggest Panem would have in a while. And I knew it was coming, because the President had confided in it with me. I held my breath and news came: "One of those points is that District Thirteen will also be participating in the two-hundredth and fifth Games, increasing the tribute number to twenty-six and symbolising the most radical reform to the Games since its inception-"

The rest of the country would be gasping, just brimming with excitement for what was to come. The more the merrier: more deaths, more tears, and more people to fall in love with and consequently lose. I gave a nod of approval, still feeling giddy at what could potentially come from this.

I was known in Panem as being the Gamemaker who thought out of the box not only when it came to arenas, but when it had come to concepts: I made tributes magicians or gods, I thought of ways to make the Games become more than reality TV, but to become a story or even a legend.

So why was I so uninspired? I had never experienced writers' block before. The list was endless: generic volcanoes, forests or icy tundra arenas, with little to distinguish them from the countless similar arenas that had popped up in the past. Sometimes, simple arenas were good: they allowed us to focus on the tributes. But even if I had a simple arena I couldn't make it bland. That wasn't my style.

I grabbed a vague blueprint of an indoor arena I had invented, crumbling it into a ball and walking over to the rubbish bin to dispose of it. I almost tripped over a Games console, my son's, and cursed.

"—The professors have made egregious claims that the new censorship laws being passed by the Capitol will heavily restrict debate, ignoring that the Capitol is a hotbed for intellectual development and discussion," the female news reporter said. Oh. The student protests and arrests that had gone on. They had blocked my wife and I from going on a nice meal. Annoyances. "Students have subsequently protested, and have embarked on multiple other stupid campaigns as a consequence, including wanting to defend the rights of treasonous Avoxes."

The camera showed a bunch of students silently marching down a busy Capitolian road, blocking the traffic. There were actually a lot of them. They said nothing, but held up wooden signs merely saying: _Let us speak for those who cannot._

"We will recap with a previous interview we had with one of the protests' leaders, Wilhem O'Neill," the news reporter smiled. The screen cut to a young boy, no older than nineteen, with a microphone shoved into his face so aggressively that his glasses were almost knocked off:

"So what is your logic behind defending those who have committed treason?"

"Avoxes should serve their time," he said reasonably, looking mildly irritated. "But we will protest for the rights of Avoxes as Capitolian citizens; they aren't legally protected and given rights in the way we Capitolians are, including the right to vote and the right to a fair trial-" The reporter tried to speak but he interrupted harshly: "A leaked inquiry commissioned and suppressed by our _elected ministers_ have even detailed that Avoxes have been frequently assaulted, abused and killed by the government and their owners with little repercussion-"

"So we take it that you oppose the government?" The report said confrontationally. "Do you understand that protesting the government will be much more difficult after these laws are pass-"

"I support the President and the Capitol," the boy stressed, looking at the camera. "We are merely defending the rights given to us by Marx Nystalgia the First and important Capitolian values-"

I tuned out, feeling a little sorry for the guy. He was lucky the Capitol had become liberal in recent years, as even minor opposition of the Capitol could get you killed in the Districts or even the Capitol some years ago. That and his interview went disastrously.

The news and the President routinely condemned the student protests, but it was interesting to see these protests grow stronger… That was until they were stopped by legal reform anyway.

"And to recap, negotiations by Romantia and Panem have been successful. Romantia's newly elected President, President Blidka, has won a landslide election in the state. Unlike his predecessor, the disgusting President Operhägen, Blidka has expressed support for Panem. Him and President Nystalgia have agreed to scrap the isolationist policies of the Pacific-Atlantic treaty and start a new negotiation."

A greying man, who looked timid despite how masculine his features were, stood at a podium and spoke directly to a cheering crowd in a foreign language. Thank god for subtitles:

"The public in Romantia have put their faith in The Liberation Party," I wondered what a party even was in politics. In Panem, parties were made for every occasion _except_ politics. "No longer will we follow the Democratic Workers' unscrupulous policy of attacking the great nation of Panem! No longer will we fund terrorists and fringe states! No longer will we advocate for war!" He was a very passionate speaker, and got the crowd roaring in approval. "Here, I pledge for _diplomacy_ , for advocating human rights _civilly_ , and for trade to expand both economies!" I stood up, staring at the screen and wondering what this man was even talking about. "To truly symbolise the joining of our true nations, embassies will be opened in the Panem's Capitol and our Capital City – Sector Forty, Belgium-"

"Here to discuss the massive implications of these announcements, we have our political pundits," she turned to them: "So, Romantia was our enemy less than a year ago. Why is the Great President agreeing to co-operate, especially after we once prioritised to ignore each other?"

"Well, it's important to note that Romantians are weak and have a different leader every five years," a moustached man said pompously. "Our kind President is willing to-"

I switched the television off. I grew bored of politics, and slightly annoyed that this massive political change had kind of taken the shock out of the massive alteration of the Games. But I wasn't a politician, I was a Gamemaker, and the Panemian public much preferred stories to boring trade deals.

A sound clattered from a room across the corridor, making me jump. It was a room that served as a nursery from my one-year-old daughter, Terra, and it was thankfully quite empty. But it was definitely _a_ noise.

Thankfully I had come here alone, but other than my family I didn't know of anyone who would come with me? I tentatively made my way into the dark nursery, the moonlight reflecting off creepy dolls and clowns.

"Tobias-"

I jumped, almost screaming as I turned around; behind me, her coat and woolly hat dusted with snow, was Ruth. She was the Deputy Head Gamemaker, always there to moderate and improve on my ideas and ensure the boring aspects of the Games like paperwork went smoothly.

"Ruth! What were you doin-"

"I knew you'd be here and I wanted a progress report on the arena," she said, walking towards my living room. She threw her coat off and launched it across a couch, holding her hat in her hands so that her stern features were shown in the firelight. "The Games edge closer and we at least need a main concept by next week…"

"I was brainstorming here."

"Lets not think. Lets do."

"Yes, yes, quite," I moved to a couch and relaxed on it as Ruth looked at me intensely. "Well, there are ideas on my desk," I gestured to it and Ruth went towards it. Nervous for her criticisms, as Ruth was always an honest critic, I fidgeted a little. Maybe small talk would help: "So, what do you think of the whole Thirteen thing?"

"It's dangerous to stir from the Games' tradition," she said sternly, her face resolute. I always admired how Ruth had kept so stoic despite the tragedies that had befell her in life; she'd lost her husband and daughter, she had a disastrous engagement afterwards, but she was still so organised and sorted. "These arenas aren't half bad."

"… They're not?"

"But we need something original too. People will be expecting it from you at this point, Tobias," she said to me. "What if we find a way to thematically link them altogether? Like, via a mutt, or a twist or story?"

… I think I knew how. I briefly glanced at a child's book I had read to my daughter recently, thrown messily on the floor inches away from my son's video game console.

"I think I have a great idea."

"Great, pitch it to Yeena and we may start construction soon and will be able to plan the pre-Games stuff," Ruth concluded, moving to my desk and re-organising the chaos into something that resembled a work desk.

"Amazing," I stood up. "Want some coffee?"

"I honestly ought to be leaving soon, I've been so busy," I was confused. Ruth hadn't been given the mountain of paperwork she usually sorted out before the Games started yet. "Maybe we can organi-"

"Why were you in my nursery, Ruth?"

Her features lit up. I'd never seen Ruth look so happy ever, even when she was happily married. "I needed somewhere to put the baby…"

 _Baby?_ I bit my bottom lip slightly. Ruth looked too old to have a baby. Was I being judgmental? Could a woman in her fifties have kids? Ruth never told me she was seeing anyone…

"Do you want to see him? He's a lovely creature," she made her way to the nursery and I hesitantly followed, as if I were following a serial killer.

"You had a baby?"

"Yes, and he's mine forever," I switched on the lights to the nursery and followed Ruth to see what was lying in my daughter's crib. I tried to not have a heart attack when I saw just what was there: a dark skinned baby with vague eyes and a loud laugh. He seemed very pleased when Ruth picked him up, hugging him into her body.

"That's Mirane's baby," I said. "Rebels got him, right?"

"No rebels. He's perfectly safe with me. And he's _my_ baby."

"B-But," I tried to grasp this whole thing. "That's Billy – Beta – Buster, whatever he's called."

"I've renamed him," Ruth said, making her way out into the wooden corridor of the lodge. She walked over a bearskin rug and opened the front door, inviting a snowstorm in. "I make him happy, and he makes me happy. We're all we need in each other's lives. I'm his mother now."

"So… What exactly is his name?"

"Olga," she said, as if it wasn't insane. She then slammed the door behind her, leaving me gawping after her.

That really was insane. Not only was Olga a traditionally feminine name, it was the name of Ruth's recently deceased daughter. Which made sense, considering she was probably still grieving, but I didn't think Ruth's grief would lead to this. And now I had to deal with one of the biggest Games Panem has ever seen without her at my side – she was the sane one, the voice of reason. Now that voice had been silenced.

… How the hell were these Games going to work out now?

* * *

 **Hello everyone! Welcome to 'Hunt or be Hunted', my 4th SYOT! I guess now is the time to get the disclaimers out of the way for new readers who can't be bothered reading the predecessors, right?**

 **1\. The story is T: it will feature violence (...), bad language (depending on the character *very* bad language), sexual references and depictions of drug use. There will also probably be triggering themes in the story e.g rape, abuse, mental illness. Basically, trigger warning: potentially anything. You've been warned.**

 **2\. I use British English. Nobody has ever complained about this ever but I'm lazy, so 'mom' will be replaced with 'mum' etc.**

 **3\. There will most probably be flawed science in this story, either because a. Flawed science in fiction can be cool or b. My science knowledge, whilst not bad, is obviously limited. For example, unless you have superhuman strength and accuracy using throwing knives as an offensive weapon actually doesn't usually work very well. In this fic, that little fact may be ignored from time to time.**

 **4\. Also, teleportation and an assortment of technological marvels have (kind of) been achieved in this fic. See about cool unrealistic science?**

 **5\. Which leads me into; this is AU. Want the gist of my verse read it on my profile (or read the older stories?), but it's years into the future, Panem has evolved scientifically, economically and politically. There are changes.**

 **6\. I guess the most important is that the Districts are a lot more politically connected. In the original series, Katniss says she knows almost nothing of the other Districts. In this verse, people can (if they have the influence) get permits to different Districts or even the Capitol. The sense of isolationism is lost a little. There are also other countries that are slowly being connected.**

 **7\. This story will be long... Hopefully not as long as the last story.**

 **8\. There's no sponsoring system. Who dies is determined by multiple factors, such as who reviews, who makes for a good story & who is popular – or who is unpopular, haha.**

 **9\. Updates will be weekly, although I may take a hiatus when exams come, sorry!**

 **10\. Don't be afraid to make (reasoned) criticisms, I don't get uber sensitive fanfictions writers. I think improvement is pretty important.**

 **List (so far!):**

 **District 1**

 **Male: Rosario Vogel, 18 (WaywardWordsmith)**

 **Female: Jordyn Rossi, 18 (JGrayzz)**

 **District 2**

 **Male: Titan Bard, 18 (Remus98)**

 **Female: Agrippa 'Pip' Wilder, 18 (Europa22)**

 **District 3**

 **Male: Syncis Allomoi, 16 (GryffindorOnFire)**

 **Female: Francine 'Frankie' Thales-Wren, 13 (BamItsTyler)**

 **District 4**

 **Male: Yveaux Hathers, 18 (Littletimmy223)**

 **Female: Lillee Duraton, 18 (Computerfan)**

 **District 5**

 **Male: Xavier Day, 18 (Blangreck)**

 **Female: Alina Parrish, 15 (Alice Kingsleighs)**

 **District 6**

 **Male: Kai Chiroshi, 15 (Author of Ice and Fire)**

 **Female: Roxanne Maxwell, 18 (FallenChildOfTheUnderground)**

 **District 7**

 **Male: Tamal Arbor, 15 (Music Rules The World)**

 **Female: Perseverance 'Percy' Bright, 16 (asadderandawiserman).**

 **District 8**

 **Male: Batiste Grayson, 14 (Anla'shok)**

 **Female: Arabella 'Bella' Thern, 16 (Just-Your-Ordinary-Author)**

 **District 9**

 **Male: Silas Calder, 16 (DryBonesKing)**

 **Female: Tesni 'Tess' Rosette, 18 (Alecxias)**

 **District 10**

 **Male: Raleigh Everett, 17 (MidnightRaven323)**

 **Female: Lillian Collier, 17 (YourDownfall)**

 **District 11**

 **Male: Florian 'Flori' Flax, 14 (Hoprocker)**

 **Female: Raiyah 'Rye' Crahn, 16 (leylazzz)**

 **District 12**

 **Male: Arran Taron, 17 (Baenerys)**

 **Female: Cassandra Diorite, 15 (charlieal12)**

 **District 13**

 **Male: Nate Orison, 16 (ToxicatedRose)**

 **Female: Epsilon Flint, 17 (AaronIris34)**


	2. The Reaped and Volunteers

**Agrippa Wilder, District 2, 18**

I woke up on Reaping day knowing that things were going to change dramatically. I'd been planning to do this for a whole year, but when the sun revealed itself through my shanty apartment's windows it all felt too real. I lay in bed for a brief moment, my messy hair trailing around me while I eyed the clock.

It wasn't that I was scared of death… I'd become desensitised to everything. But I was still nervous. This was actually going to be a thing that I was doing. I sucked in some air, grew some balls and threw my thin sheets aside. My cheap apartment, which I joked was more like a shack, had the bedroom, bathroom and kitchen all squeezed into a single space. It was only a brief walk before I was boiling water and mixing it with porridge oats, creating a depressing albeit nutritious breakfast.

I knew that those in the outer Districts thought District Two was a rich one. It was a false correlation, because we were Careers with the rich preps like One and Four. We were probably poorer than some outer Districts, like Seven or Three. I considered myself privileged, and I'd hardly had a stellar life. Even many Careers were impoverished.

I'd let my hair grow too long, and knew that it had to practically short from now onwards. My vain side – the side that enjoyed looking nice – wanted to keep the tresses, but my practical side, or maybe the side of me that barely wanted to even shower, compelled me to grab a knife from my kitchen drawer and slowly saw it off. It wasn't an easy process, but I was done quickly.

Just as I grabbed the lukewarm bowl of porridge and made my way to the edge of the bed, using it to sit, my door burst open and a familiar face burst in:

"I was going to tell you to get your ass out of bed," he said, wrinkling his nose at the smell. "You got an important day ahead of you, after all."

"Yeah," I wasn't hungry so just put the bowl down to collect fungus. "I'm virtually ready at this point."

Marcellus was the leader of the gang I was in. I didn't feel a familial connection to the gang like Marcellus did, but I appreciated how they lifted me up from an awful place and put me into a bad place instead. Originally I was a runaway who lived on the streets, now violence and money had meant that I could afford basic provisions and a roof over my head.

He had convinced me to volunteer. There were others in our gang, all teenage tearaways with no life prospects but a lot of ambition: Panes, Nessa and Arion. But I was the one who had the fight, the courage (or indifference) and the age to throw myself into an arena where I'd most probably die.

According to Marcellus, if I won big money and got out of the arena alive I could invest into bigger schemes than cheap drugs or territorial disputes: there were big gangs that thrived in District Six and Nine. We could establish something like that, and make thousands instead of hundreds of credits.

I supposed there was a selfish reason, too. I knew Marcellus was using me as a prop for his own benefit; he said if he was younger and could volunteer, he would, but that was just bullshit. Maybe, if the Capitol gave me a big enough reward, I could just escape this life completely and live like the people in the movies did. It felt like an impossible dream, and it probably would be, but…

… What was there to lose?

"Lets get out there, nice and early," Marcellus started getting snappy, clicking his fingers as I tightly tied the laces to my boots. "There will be volunteers from the Careers trying to take your place, and if we miss this year it won't be you trying to volunteer, it'd be Panes – he ain't as good a fighter as you are."

"And you didn't even comment on my new hairdo," I said dryly as I rose, making my way towards the door. Marcellus followed me out and we were in one of District Two's few shantytowns, a tin slum where the very poorest made their living. It smelled, but I was used to it.

"So you know the plan?" Marcellus said as we both walked down the street. People eyed us as walked past them, some with fear and some with suspicion. The lion and the snake; that's what people called us. Marcellus was a lion because of his aggression and his mane of blonde hair. I didn't know why they called me the snake, and I don't think I cared much either.

"Wait for the Career girls to brawl with each other," in District Two, it was common for Careers to fight their way onto the stage – it was their version of proving they could participate. "Then just slip in while they're busy focusing on each other."

"Simple enough, right? And you're a nobody," Marcellus said that in a matter-of-fact way, not an insulting way. "They won't even see you coming."

I didn't say anything; I just stared ahead intently and thought of strategy. I didn't even know what I was going to do in the Games, every option seemed to have a drawback. I could join the Careers, but _that_ was a disaster waiting to happen. I could also hope I make it on my own.

When we got into the more affluent areas of District Two, a backdrop of mountains painting the skies wherever I looked, the Two stereotype started to show: Hunger Games banners and flags were draped from most households, many businesses excitedly had signs that announced they'd be broadcasting and the faces of previous Two Victors – all but one of them dead – were in every nook and cranny. Hopefully I'd be one of them.

"Look here," Marcellus said when we passed a broken streetlight. He grabbed a poster on it and shoved it in front of my face.

It was one of Mayor Draven's posters; he'd set up an expensive and futile campaign. I saw the photos of the past bunch of District Two losers, all of them with an x scrawled over their face. It detailed how they had died: poisoned, throat slit, stabbed in the skull, shot in the head, shot with an arrow, throat crushed and pushed from a great height. Lovely ways to go.

Bolded print underneath emphasised: _Do you want this to happen to you? Think before you volunteer._

"You sure about this?" Marcellus told me, a rare edge of sympathy to his voice. I just nodded unsurely and the harshness returned: "Good. We don't need you dropping out last minute, Pip."

"I'll show those Careers how it's done," I smirked. My life depended on it.

After the long walk to the town square, the streets growing progressively cleaner on our way, we soon found ourselves waiting in a crowd around the town square. The Reapings weren't for another two hours or so, but people had already arrived early so they were registered and not penalised.

"You have to wait in line," Marcellus said. "I'll be watching, but I have business to handle. You got the pills?"

Having expected the question an hour ago, I handed Marcellus a bottle that looked innocent enough. He shook it and it rattled, giving me an approving smile before making his way towards one of the side streets and disappearing through there.

I joined the crowd, standing beside a mother who consoled a crying twelve-year old that the Careers were going to rescue him from the Games. Slowly, we edged our way to the turnstalls where Peacekeepers admitted children.

"Finger," he said to me. I showed him mine and he jabbed it, watching my lack of reaction. "Thank you ma'am and good luck."

Was he saying that in the way that he hoped I wasn't Reaped, or was did he know what I wanted and wished me the best?

I gave him a rare appreciative smile and made my way into the town square, which was slowly filling up with the selection of this year's reaping pool. The twelve year old I had seen earlier was suckling his finger, automatically filing into the twelve's area. I made my way close to the front of the stage, where the eighteen year olds were.

The stage was still empty, and was being set up by a bunch of nameless faces: the reaping bowl, then the microphone, then the sound system and projector. I couldn't help feel slightly claustrophobic as more people began to file around me.

"Hello Pip," someone said next to me. I turned around, almost punching the person who had shocked me in the throat. I just glared at him, which made Panes pissed off in response. "I was expecting a warmer reception."

"You'd get one in the seventeen year old section, where you belong," I said. Though I talked to Panes, my mind had been preoccupied over the past hour or so, looking out to make sure my parents weren't coming to the Reaping. They had no other kid than me; thankfully they seemed to be giving it a miss.

"Now now, what the Peacekeepers don't know can't hurt them."

"And what they do know can hurt you," I said to him, a touché. Naturally, being part of petty crime, we knew what it was like to suffer the wrong end of the law. In one occasion, I'd even been given a lash: I didn't want to know how those people who got multiple lashes survived… Many of them _didn't_ survive.

Mayor Draven made his way to the stage when it was all set up, smiling and introducing himself. I knew his smile was fake; he was probably miserable. He'd lost his pregnant daughter last year to the Games, which was why he made a small personal speech after the treaty of treason:

"And remember, while we appreciate the entertainment the Capitol give us and are proud of our heritage, think before you volunteer," the injection of the sentiment was awkward and forced, but a few people surrounding us clapped politely. He seemed choked up and made his way to the side.

District Two's new escort replaced him, almost hopping in front of the Reaping bowl. Fi-Fi, our old escort, was apparently a cold and unforgiving bitch that put more pressure on her tributes to win than Career trainers did. Our new one seemed a lot more jovial.

"Hello District Two! I've never been here before, and I must say how beautiful it is," he smiled at the applause, soaking it in. "Now, before I pick this year's tribute it's time for us to be reminded of our history and why it has led to us all standing here today. Then it's time to pick the tributes!"

Everybody knew the history like the back of their hands, I wasn't even educated but the whole rebellion shtick was unavoidable, especially as said rebellion had continued to persist for hundreds of years. There were even whispers that there would be a revolution a year or so ago, though nothing came of it. Rebels weren't looked upon nicely in District Two.

Instead, I was looking at the purple haired woman who stood besides Mayor Draven. He whispered something to her, though she didn't react or say anything. As District Two's most celebrated only alive Victor, she mentored his daughter last year. I wondered if there was any beef there.

Robinetro's respectful silence was broken when the projection behind him went to black, and he stepped forward.

"Well, lets just get this over and done with – onto the Games, hey?" He smiled at the affirmative response. He reached into one of the reaping bowls. "So, ladies first, and our honourable lady will be…"

"Don't say anything," Panes whispered. He may have been a bad fighter, but he knew strategy.

"I volunteer!" A choir of voices said surround me, all desperate Careers, drowning out the name of the reaped child. It wasn't long before the crowd, instinctively knowing what happened when Two girls were in competition to get to the stage, had quickly moved aside to avoid being caught in the storm of violence.

It seemed like three girls had volunteered this year. Two of them were wrestling with each other's hair and screaming, while a third seventeen year old was desperately trying to make her way to the stage. This was my golden and only opportunity, so I grabbed onto the edge of the stage and clambered onto it, not even taking the stairs.

"I volunteer," I said firmly as I stood up.

Robinetro looked shocked, to say the least. This was his first year, and though he had seen Careers brawl on television before it must have been surreal to see it before his eyes. He took a moment to acknowledge me, instead looking at the girls with bloody faces and dishevelled expression.

"Better luck next year lovelies," he smiled to them before turning to me. "So, do tell me your name…"

"Pip Wilder," I said, not even telling him my real name.

"Our female tribute is Pip!" He grabbed my hand and raised it to cheers. I wondered if they thought I was a Career or something – I think I looked like one. "Now, onto our strapping young Two boy…"

* * *

 **Yveaux Hathers, District 4, 18**

When my alarm blared out for all to hear for the umpteenth time I reflexively slammed the top of it and activated its snooze feature, groaning and quickly realising that today I _couldn't_ sleep in for another two hours: the consequences of being late weren't being scolded by my trainer and being forced to do another measly set of crunches or weights, it would be missing out on the Reaping. This was my last Reaping, and therefore my last chance to volunteer for the Games I'd been hoping to participate in.

I jumped out of bed, jumping into the nearest pants and shirt I could pick up from my floor. People liked to dress up smart for the Reaping, but it didn't really matter. I'd be given a stylist later, so when it came to the looks department I could worry then instead of now.

The Games weren't something I was _completely_ obsessed with, really. I guessed they could make for cool television every now and then, but unlike most Careers I didn't spend every waking minute strategizing or obsessing over things like blood. But then again, using a weapon and running fast were pretty much the only things I could do well.

I'd never had much motivation. It just wasn't something I was good at. If I didn't catch onto something straight away, I wouldn't try to be good at it at all. Naturally academia didn't last long. Any hobby my parents thrust at me never really caught on. The only thing I was good at was sex, partying, sleeping and – coincidentally – athletics.

Athletics didn't give you much in life, other than a six pack that attractive girls loved, and even though I loved lazing I couldn't hang around and do _nothing_ ; I don't think I'd have been able to stand my mother's expression if she saw me become a layabout, or someone who fell into poverty. So I went down the best route I could and invested some money to train; my parents could afford it, and were happy to fund it too.

"Yveaux," my mother said as I swaggered from my room to the kitchen. She was making some kind of soup. "You're late for breakfast, honey," she strode over to me and began to meticulously go over my shirt collar. "This is the most important day in your life, it might be the last day I ever…"

A pause. It was weird that the Hunger Games could lead to death. Ideally, that wasn't something I was going to let happen but… It could. My mother and I had plenty of time to say our goodbyes, so she halted before she could say anything. We'd even promised to not do the Justice Building circus, just to avoid all the sadness behind going away for three weeks… Or forever.

"I'll just have whatever you're making for the customers," I smiled. My dad was probably out fishing; my mother, who would sell seafood down at the market, used most of his stock. It made a modest sum.

"Well, I wouldn't usually dish away profit but because it is your last day…" She forced a smile and made her way to the stove, dishing out some of her traditional fish soup and scooping it into a to-go polystyrene cup. I collected it and she leaned in to kiss my cheek. "I'll be there at the Reaping, just to watch my big boy as he makes his way to Victory."

"Remember, no Justice Building."

"No Justice Building," she repeated. "Oh, and Confrey is coming too," she added quickly.

No. Not Confrey. My jackass, older brother who was a Peacekeeper and thought it gave him the moral highground in every single way.

"Really?" I said, annoyed.

"He's proud of you! You know he holds so much District pride. You'll be representing us."

I just shrugged as my mother gave me another kiss goodbye, trying to hold onto my touch and scent as much as possible, and then I made my way. We lived in a quaint neighbourhood that was thankfully close to the centre of Four – I _could_ walk for miles if I wanted to, but I didn't want to.

With an hour to go until Reaping, the central markets were bustling with Four citizens who were planning on buying lots of food so they could have a large post-Reapings dinner, safe in the knowledge that there would most likely be volunteers.

After taking out a couple of credits and buying some bread to go along with the takeaway soup I had gotten, I passed an ageing merchant who was selling rare breeds of fish that people could put in their tanks, or hang up on their wall for decoration.

"Hey, snapper," he said to me, his voice hoarse as he called my by my nickname. I turned around to face him, soup dribbling down my chin. "You not going to give an old man a hello?"

I knew Liis quite well – a consequence of him setting up a stall right next to my mother. I nudged through a small crowd of people to get to him, and he gave me a toothy smile.

"I suppose I ought to say goodbye before I volunteer," I said.

"Ah, you got there first," he sighed. "I guess when you get back I'd have to give you one of my expensive fishing boats." We had made a bet when I young that if either of us became millionaires, the other would owe us something: Liis owed me his battered albeit charming fishing boat, and I owed him nothing more than a few gold buttons that I had.

"I haven't got there yet," I smiled.

"Aye, but I've seen you have drunken brawls, you're not half a bad fighter," he laughed wheezily. A small boy came up to the front of the stall, eyeing a few colourful fish that danced around in the saltwater. "Anyway, I have to serve customers, see you in a few weeks."

"Yeah, see you," I made my way out of the market, finishing my food and throwing the cup onto the floor. Town square was as busy as the market, which was expected considering the Reapings were half an hour away. I made sure that there were no scorned ex girlfriends in the vicinity before making my way to the turnstalls.

"Finger, sir," a Peacekeeper said as I pushed my way to the front of the line.

I held out my finger, wincing as the needle bit into it. She scanned the blood, which seemed to make an affirmative sounding noise.

"All clear," she said to me chirpily.

"Thanks," I paused before I made my way into the square. "Oh, beautiful smile by the way."

I knew she was probably blushing underneath her visor, judging by her body language. I supposed that my main talent other than killing pretend children was charming women, a skill I'd much rather make money from. Sadly, male prostitution didn't seem like it had much of a market in District Four.

I made my way to the eighteens, surrounded by a bunch of non-Careers. I tried to look to see if any faces were familiar, but none were. I didn't have any friends in the centre or around my age-range. I think I was relatively popular, as I could hold a decent conversation, but there was nobody I'd really connected to.

I could see an ex-girlfriend in the seventeen's section behind me, talking to her best friend who I had also happened to sleep with. Knowing how awkward that was, I turned around and hoped neither noticed me.

Lillee didn't seem to be anywhere nearby. That was a shame; I'd have liked to talk to her. District Four pre-selected its volunteers, and the female volunteer happened to be a relatively pretty face – in a plain Jane, girl-next-door kind of way, who didn't seem to talk much when I spoke to her. I'd hoped to be paired with someone more jovial, but at least I wasn't with Honora last year. She was much less hot and much more intimidating.

Apparently we were supposed to watch previous Games to learn strategy. My predecessor, Ross, had definitely taught me something important: don't piss off the she-hulks unless you wanted your neck snapped.

I wanted to think of something more interesting, like some reality TV show I watched last night about a midget incest couple, but my mind lingered on Lillee a little longer. I wondered if she was still alive or volunteering – she'd be penalised if she didn't volunteer, but she hadn't reached out to me. District Partners who were preselected usually joined forces straight away, to discuss strategy. I was too indifferent to reach out to her, and she must have felt the same way.

Whatever.

I watched as District Four's mayor, a tough looking woman, delivered a passionate history lesson on the treaty of treason. Then she made way for our escort, Portia Rhymes. She'd been our escort for like two decades now, and seemed to progressively gain weight every year.

"Hello District Four," she said kindly, looking at everyone. "I knew I was in this place when I could smell the fresh, salty air."

She was probably bullshitting; District Four's town square was miles away from any coastline or ocean, but it was nice that she was trying to be courteous I guess. I tapped my foot impatiently as she started to give us a full-blown history of the revolution, starting to grow nervous when I realised that soon I would be on that stage… And then, after twenty or so minutes in the Justice Building, I'd be on my way to the _Capitol_.

The Capitol… Where buildings were tall and they had flying machines. I could only imagine how cool that would be; a once in a lifetime opportunity, possibly literally.

"Okay, now onto the exciting part!" Portia threw out her hands and I joined in with some of the cheers. She wobbled slightly in her heels, making her way to the female reaping bowl. "Ladies first is the tradition, and who am I to defy tradition?" She scooped up the paper. "Winona-"

"I volunteer!" I'd never heard Lillee talk before, so hearing her in the crowd was interesting. She had a voice that I wouldn't match to her gentle face: one filled with determination and spunk. As it was District Four, no other Careers dare contest her as she made her way to the stage.

Her boobs were still as perky as ever; especially in the blouse she was wearing. And she'd lost weight over the year, too. I'd budge her up from a seven out of ten to an eight; considering Portia wasn't exactly gorgeous, it would be nice to have some eye candy.

"Wonderful, give it up to your female tribute this year!"

I clapped with the others, which seemed to give Lillee a bit of a buzz. Without further ado, Portia made her way to the second reaping bowl.

"But there's a dashing young man who may also be our Victor," she said excitedly, blue fingernails wedged between a pointless piece of paper. Whoever she picked wouldn't be going into the Games. "I would like everyone to give it up to Jamie Wharton-"

"I volunteer," I raised my hand and everyone around me turned to face me. Pretending she was surprised that District Four would have another volunteer, Portia gasped and clasped her hands together excitedly, grinning towards me. "Okay, young man, come up, come up…"

People moved aside automatically, paving the way for me to gloriously stand on stage. Suddenly aware that cameras in the square – dozens of them – were pointed at me from every angle, I grinned widely. It felt like all the mental preparation in the world couldn't prepare me for the moment, not truly. It was a little surreal.

I thought Lillee would be the wimp, but she looked at me with an edge of determination I'd never anticipated.

"Your names?" Portia said to us once applause dissipated, aiming a microphone in our direction.

"Lillee Duraton."

"Yveaux Hathers," I said, rubbing the back of my head like I didn't quite know what my name was.

"Give it up for your tributes, District Four! Yveaux Hathers and Lillee Duraton!"

* * *

 **Roxanne Maxwell, District Six, 18**

"Maxwell," Neil said, entering my office as I read through multiple offered publishing deals. I looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, prompting him to continue: "You're not going to believe this, we have a Capitolian publishers that want a five book contract for over-"

"It's Reaping day," I span in my chair lightly, sighing. "Ask them if they can leave it for another day."

"Of course," he immediately spoke into the phone. "Can this be saved for another day?" I heard a voice through the phone and he looked up me. "They said yes, but-"

"I only care about the yes, not the but," my mind had been way too pre-occupied with work. This was my last Reaping year, so once that was over I guessed there was a lot of stress that was saved. "Just tell them that I'll call tomorrow and that it'll all be over."

"Of course, ma'am," Neil smiled.

"Don't call me ma'am, wiseass," I rolled my eyes, standing up and strolling into my room. After a brief search of my somewhat unvaried wardrobe, I decided that what I was wearing seemed appropriate enough for Reaping day. My hair was way too messy, so I quickly put on a beanie and hoped that covered the most of it.

Life was a lot of things in Panem, but you could never say it was uneventful. For most people that can be a bad thing… And there had been a lot of tragedy in my life, but I lived in a modest house in the Victors' village (admittedly one that was a lot smaller than some of the other houses), I had a roommate and co-worker that I trusted and after publishing my first book – a bestseller, which focused on Hunger Games fiction – I was one of the hottest writers' in Panem.

But that didn't mean the Hunger Games didn't play on my mind, especially on Reaping Day. I was desensitised to them, and the fact I _enjoyed_ them enough to write about them said something else… But they had traumatised my father. Killed him, even.

My father was killed in the Victors' Games. Or, as I knew, the Victor's purge. I heard him talking to my old Avox, Tanya, confiding to her about the rebellious urges amongst Victors. It was a very convenient time for a Games to occur, and then the person who survived was the bitch from District Two. She didn't kill my father – he was burnt to a crisp by a dragon – but I still resented her. Her being alive was the reason my father was dead, and she was less deserving.

I may have been young when he died, but I still remembered the pain. The only thing that gave me solace was the fact that he was remembered and cherished. But as most Victors became nothing more than names, I didn't have that comfort. They would never know how my dad played football with me in the park, or taught me how to throw a punch.

As I made my way down the stairs, where Tanya was cooking breakfast, I quickly realised how it led to me to have an admittedly unhealthy obsession with being remembered. More particularly, ensuring my father was remembered. From a young age I desperately wrote transcript after transcript about a fictionalised version of my father's game, set during the two-hundredth and fifth Games, the upcoming Games now.

Eventually, when my writing was good enough, people became entranced with the story. The fact it was semi-fictionalised and semi-biographical made it appealing too, apparently. Due to the fact I was a Victors' daughter, and the Capitol had been decent enough to leave me his inheritance, I would never struggle. But thanks to Neil, my publisher and new best friend, money really began pouring in. It made life so much easier. I'd managed to turn tragedy to positivity, and hopefully I'd cement a legacy in the process.

I hoped I'd leave a legacy, too. I wasn't scared of dying, that's not why I was so nervous today. I was nervous that everything… all my memories… They'd amount to nothing. And if my own years were wasted, that made my deceased parents' years wasted too.

"Ooh, bacon," I smiled and glanced at Tanya, who was cooking. She was middle aged when she started working for my father, when I was merely a kid. She was one of few Avoxes in District Six, it made her the talk of the town. Now Avoxes were a little more commonplace.

A part of me always expected her to do more than just smile, but she never did for obvious reasons. She attentively returned to what she was cooking.

I sat down just as Tanya dished out breakfast and set it out in front of me. I nodded appreciatively and Neil bounced into the room excitedly; outside of work, he was just a free spirit a few years older than me. Other than the fact he'd helped me massively, I liked that most about him.

"A free bacon sandwich?" He asked, sitting down next to me and tucking in as Tanya set out his food. "I get this awesome house, free food _and_ it is cooked for me for free. You really ought to increase my rent, Maxwell."

I smirked, swallowing a mouthful of food. "Don't tempt fate, Neil."

"Reverse psychology is your best friend."

"Oh is it?" I stood up and picked up my plate, moving to the sink and washing it myself despite Tanya's silent protest that she do it. "Well, since you said that I'm sure paying another hundred credits a month wouldn't hurt my finances… I could even buy a computer or some other fancy Capitol stuff."

Neil just chuckled. "Okay, okay. I won't tempt fate. Talking about tempting fate…" He faltered for a little. "Are you going to the reapings? It's only in an hour. You just show your face and go, right?"

"Hopefully," I said, lingering in front of the sink a little longer. "I was just going to get a bus there, yeah. You guys stay here and I'll be back in time for dinner."

"I'll come with," Neil smiled. "I mean, if the worst happens you'll need someone to look at and visit in the Justice Building, right?" I bit my lip slightly and nodded. It was a one in a million chance, so why was I terrified? Maybe because the one in a million chance had eventually killed my own dad…

"I think moral support would be nice," I grabbed a jacket before I made my way out the door. "Now I may have paid for your bacon, but you can pay for your bus ticket."

"Okay, okay," Neil grinned.

* * *

I was worried the press would follow me on my way to the town square; author of bestselling Hunger Games fiction on her way to a _real_ Reapings could have been a headline grabber… Thankfully I hadn't acquired that level of fame yet.

The half hour bus journey was silent, I'd managed to grab a seat but it soon filled with mothers and fathers who were taking their kids to the reaping. Neil was too old to be reaped, but even he had parents. Tanya was great, and I never felt lonely, but sometimes I did wish I had someone to guide me: to scold me when I did something stupid, or praise me when I did something good beyond raise money.

"I was thinking about the plot to the Hero Named-" Neil began but stopped when the bus screeched to a halt, stopping behind at least five other buses that opened and let out floods of nervous families. I didn't say anything, but just stood up and let the current drag me back out into the street. Dominating the scene was a large pyramid monument that had been set up outside the Justice Building, giving us a clear indication of where the square is.

When we saw the Peacekeepers rounding everyone into the town square, I turned to Neil.

"After the reaping I'll meet you right by the monument," I gestured to its towering figure that peaked above the stage. A part of me also thought that there was a chance I could be meeting him _inside_ the Justice Building.

"Awesome, see you there," Neil smiled.

I queued up for another fifteen minutes, having my finger scanned, before I was let in. I sucked the remnant of blood from my finger before making my way to the front, where the Mayor was waiting for everything to be set up. As I passed, all eyes were on me, though I'd grown good at ignoring it. I was once Roger Maxwell's daughter – I was used to publicity.

"This is going to be fun," I mumbled sarcastically myself. I didn't exactly want to see two people – potentially twelve year olds – be dragged kicking and screaming into a death match from which they'd never return.

After the microphone screeched awkwardly, I assumed the cameras had started to roll: dramatic music started and quickly reached a climax, and the Mayor stepped forward and made the generic speech that was expected to them. But that was filler: soon the escort would make his or her way onto the stage, _that_ was the bit we were all waiting for…

… Or dreading.

"Hello everyone," the same escort we usually had – Markoz – had made his way onto the stage and pressed his face close to the microphone. He awkwardly waved, expecting us to cheer like we were a Career District. We didn't like rebels, not at all, but that didn't mean we approved of having our children sent into a death match. "I'm Markoz, as you probably know I will be your escort today, and I am here to select which brave boy and girl will be representing District Six in the two-hundredth and fifth Hunger Games."

On my row, I heard teenage girls snigger two names: _Roger Markwell and Denise Tesla_. The fictional tributes in my own book, both were District Six's tributes – a Bloodbath and a Victor. I couldn't help but smirk slightly. I wondered if the commentators would joke about the fictionalised Games I had created which would run parallel to this one.

"Now, males first! Lets spice it up a bit. We're not expecting a Roger Markwell to participate sadly," Markoz said just as I had thought it. The audience chuckled nervously; they wish we had a Victor. We weren't a Career District and Victors were extremely rare and treasured. He dipped his hand into the bowl, snagging the first piece of paper he could: "But I'm sure we've found a tribute just as wonderful in…" Dramatic pause for effect. "Kai Chiroshi!"

The crowd was silent for a minute, as if they would process the name. All the boys surrounding me seemed to exhale, as if eternally grateful that they'd never be in the Games again. However, behind me there seemed to be some kind of chaos as a boy in the fifteen's had struggled his way through the crowd.

An older boy who was in my section, on the opposite side, had opened his mouth but the reaped boy immediately grabbed his shoulders, looked him deep in the eyes and whispered something. The Peacekeepers began to approach, as if they expected trouble, but the boy had made his way onto the stage as instructed.

They must have been brothers, judging by the fact they had the same hazel eyes and messy black hair. The older one must have considered volunteering.

"Please don't take him," a man shouted from the crowd. "No-no-"

I couldn't identify the source, but I heard people gasp as the Peacekeepers probably intercepted the noisemaker. The boy on stage winced.

"Now, now," Markoz looked sorry for Kai and put a hand on his shoulder. "Your friend – it's your friend, right? Brother? Boyfriend?" Some audience members laughed, but went silent when the rest of the reaping pool – including me – turned and glared. "He can volunteer if he wants to. District Six hasn't had a volunteer for some time."

"He won't volunteer," the boy looked at the floor, voice breaking with emotion.

"Okay," Markoz patted the boy's shoulder affectionately and stepped forward. "And which lovely lady with be accompanying Kai to the Capitol… It's time to find out…" He stepped forward and reached a little bit deeper into the reaping bowl. When he drew the paper in front of his eyes, jaw dropping slightly, I already knew the name was going to be called. The shock had already hit me. It was narcissistic, but there was only one name from the reaping pool that Markoz was probably familiar with.

"Well… I… This is a surprise," he laughed nervously, scouring the audience for my face. "Can Roxanne Maxwell make her way onto the stage, please? Roxanne?"

I didn't react, because by that point I'd already reacted. But the crowd gasped; I don't think I was close to anyone watching except Neil, but they knew my name and they knew the dramatic irony of the author being reaped for a Games that she had once fictionalised. I felt my eyes grow wet slightly, though kept resolute. I had to be strong… Or maybe memorable… I had to think up of some kind of angle as I made my way onto the stage.

Stupidly, I just walked towards it like I were daydreaming. The probing cameras felt like they were attacking the back and the front of my face; no doubt they were hoping for a close up. I kept my lips pressed tightly, trying to mop any trace of tears from my face as I stood on the stage and faced a shellshocked bunch.

"Well, I… I must admit I'm flustered," Markoz laughed, trying to break the tension. "I'm a fan, Roxanne," he held his hand out.

"Call me Maxwell, just Maxwell," I said emptily and he withdrew his hand. How the hell could I be thinking of angles when I was reaped?

"Okay, well, um…" He looked at me, and an equally deflated Kai. "Shake hands for the cameras!"

I grabbed Kai's hand and shook it unenthusiastically. Kai was eyeing my face, as if he too couldn't believe that I was the female tribute who was opposite him. I doubt he cared too much, though: his own life was equally at stake.

* * *

 **Batiste Grayson, District 8, 14**

The Reaping day seemed to continue like any other; I sat in the cotton picking machine, letting it plough through the fields as the sun illuminated the crops in front of me. I watched them get torn down, being stripped into material. It was a little bit dull, but it was better than working in a dangerous factory.

Plus, I usually got a tan in the summer when the sun came out, something not many in District Eight could say they got. Today was a particularly hot day; it was always a rumour that Reapings were held on the nicest days of the year, and I was beginning to suspect that was true.

"Would it be a bit of a grim day to play Hunger Games?" I shouted over the mechanical whir, glancing at my friend Tesu. Tesu's freckled face lit up a little bit.

"Well, I guess it could be disrespectful… _Actual_ people are going to play it soon. And they're probably going to die."

"You can't say that for certain, our District won last year!" I exclaimed proudly. I was actually happy to see Mirane shoot and fight her way to Victory with an iron cast determination – it was nice to have some District pride, and her winning meant everybody could enjoy a few hours off work due to the food surplus. That made a stark contrast to last year, when a lot of our food was rationed due to the Panemian-Thirteen war.

"I know, so that makes it less likely that we'll win this year," Tasu rolled his eyes.

"Huh? What logic is behind that? One, Two and sometimes Four win consecutively."

"It's different for them, it's always different for them."

Tesu's frown seemed too real, and contrasted differently from his jovial self. I guessed the Games were more than some fun make-believe… There was a reality behind them, a reality that wasn't often shown on television. We were shown three-dimensional cardboard cutouts, but these were people with real desires and lives…

"And Batiste Grayson of District Eight makes his great escape from the _evil_ Tesu Dolyeux of District One," I shouted loudly, mimicking the booming voice of the Games' announcer Leein Malpin. Twisting the wheel, the machine began to swerve in the fields, drawing patterns.

"I think you mean the _badass_ ," Tesu laughed, tailing behind me but making sure to catch some fresh pieces of cotton on his way. "You better watch out for my throwing knives…"

"You won't be catching me," I smirked, faking a whooping cheer from the imaginary audience. People cheered when Careers' won, because their skills _were_ cool – but sometimes it was great to see a baddie meet the wrong end of karma. "I'm invinci-"

There was the sound of a mechanical screech and my machine suddenly came to a halt at the least convenient time. It wasn't anything unusual; we weren't usually given the best equipment, but it was annoying having to stop and fix the scrap every now and again.

"Oh, and my throwing knife just hit you in the leg, you're floored!" Tesu laughed, parking next to me.

I faked a gasp of pain, opening the door and almost rolling into the field – admittedly a bad move, as I had crushed some of the healthy crops. Tesu leapt out, pinning me down by both of my arms and giving a faux evil laugh as he straddled me.

"What are you going to do now, useless weakling?"

"I'll fight you!"

He looked insulted. "You can't fight a Career, dumbass."

"Oh god, it's Mrs. Rogers," I whispered as I saw something approaching. We both stood up, attentively standing in front of our machine quietly and acting like we were working. We both used a small knife we were given to clean and pick at the spindles – maybe that was the reason my machines were jammed.

Loomera, or Mrs. Rogers as she liked to be called, paused when she had seen us. She was an austere woman, always strict and swift to deliver vocational related justice, but I did like her.

"Why were you two both lying around on the fields?" She said sternly.

"I-I fell," I made up. I wasn't half a bad liar, I guessed. "Tesu helped me."

I tried to discern how Loomera felt about that. She eyed up both sceptically, but eventually ate up the story.

"Well, you two better work extra hard after this mishap," she scribbled down on her notepad as Tesu nodded at her, getting back into his machine and revving it up. "I know the quotas have gotten lower since the end of the war, and I know the hours are especially short for you on Reaping Day… But, just work hard, okay?"

I gave her a charming smile. "I always do, Mrs. Rogers."

She nodded proudly and began to walk over to another set of machines that were on the opposite end of the field, many meters away. She wasn't all that bad, and she was especially lenient on Reaping Day; as a mother, she probably knew that we were nervous. No doubt she was nervous too.

I did a quick top up of my machine and hopped into it, closing the half broken door behind me with force and starting the engine. I waited for Loomera to be well out of earshot before I shouted:

"You may have almost killed me if it wasn't for the special Rogers' breed of mutt interrupting your dastardly act," I shouted loudly. "But I've been sponsored a good first aid kit and I'm _back in action_."

I guessed when you worked with your best friend, life wasn't really too bad after all.

* * *

When work ended, around the period where I'd usually stop to have my lunch and a drink of water, I instead had to park the machine and I was let on my way for the Reaping. I was let out with a bunch of other kids and a few parents. We made our way out of the factory gates, single file, and all went our separate ways.

I didn't even have time to go home, really, so I was left in my slightly dirty and sweat stained work attire. After using some of my wage to pay for a quick bus ride to the central square, I got off and stood outside a café owned by one of my mothers' friends, where she'd be meeting me from there.

As usual, I sat on one of the outside tables, shaded by a very tatty umbrella. A government-sponsored television had been set up on the television, but was off; as soon as the Games started, it'd be displaying everything.

"Hello little guy," my mother smiled as she sat down opposite me. "How was work today?"

"Boring," I said dismissively, which she usually didn't like as an answer but took it on reaping day. Mum was extra nice when the reaping arrived, which you would usually expect. She'd been around forever, and you wouldn't think from the way she treated me that she was only my mum because she was married to my dad.

"Well the reaping's only in half an hour," it was evidenct from the busy streets and somewhat empty businesses around us that the reaping was here. People were making their way to the town square, which was only a block away. "How about I treat you to some root beer before we go?"

That did make me smile. "I'd like that a lot."

We made our way to the town square, eventually joined by my eleven-year-old brother Damask. Even though Damask often teased and fought with me, he had a habit of coming along even though he wasn't in the Reaping pool just to make sure I'd be coming back with him. Our grandparents and father were too busy to come, and my little sister too scared.

"Remember to be silent and respectful when the reaped are called," my mum told us both, holding Damask's hand and guiding him around the busy streets. "As you probably know the parents would be feeling awful, the Hunger Games aren't a… well, they're not a game."

"You tell us this every year," I moaned as we pushed our way into the town square.

My mother reprimanded me for my lack of manners as we waited in line for the turnstalls, but I was immediately silenced when I saw the eighteen year old who was being admitted through the turnstalls. It was the only girl who could ever made my heart race and make my body do _other_ weird things.

Seriously, if Raffia was reaped she'd win the Games on beauty alone – the Capitol would probably spoil her with great sponsorships. She had beautiful blonde hair that glowed in the sun, and her clothes and face were always perfect and immaculately clean. People said that she was only that way because her dad was a lawyer, but I really just thought she was one of those rare gifts god sent the world.

Naturally, she wouldn't even look at a kid like me. She once talked to me in detention, asking me to pass her a pen, but it wasn't anything special.

"Uh-oh, look mum, it's Batiste's crush."

I nudged him so hard with my elbow he yelped. "Don't be stupid, I don't like _girls._ "

"So you like boys?" He sniggered.

"Stop it, stop it," we almost got to the end of the turnstalls. "Batiste, we can't go in with you, but we'll be watching," my mother kissed both of my cheeks affectionately and looked me in the eye. "Please don't be scared, it'll be okay."

"I know, I know," I rolled my eyes. I'd been in a couple of previous reapings and it had been fine. I bit my lip to hold in my cry when the Peacekeeper wordlessly gripped my hand and jabbed at my blood, giving me entrance after a split second blood analysis.

When I had slipped through the turnstalls, our Mayor was already waiting to deliver her speech. She nervously tapped her nails onto the microphone, its noise echoing through the crowd. It had taken another twenty minutes for the other kids to enter and desperately rush into their section of the square.

"Welcome to the District Six Reapings for the two-hundredth and fifth Hunger Games," she announced to us all, keeping a strong posture. "This is the time where we stand together to remember the civil war years ago, the shameful legacy we carry, and how that legacy continues to influence disgusting rebels to this very…"

"Spare me the history lesson," I heard someone whisper behind me. "I want the good bit to start!"

"Tesu," I hissed, shushing him before a Peacekeeper strolled over to us and whacked us on the back of our heads with their intimidating looking guns. That wouldn't just hurt; it'd also be humiliating as hell.

"Hello District Eight," we had a new escort this year – Fi-Fi, who used to escort for District Two before she was demoted. In District Two she seemed enthusiastic and eager; now she merely seemed bitter. "As you can tell, I'm your new escort this year, and District Eight is all a little new to me so this is exciting! So lets get to business, hey?"

The national anthem played, President Nystalgia's vigil and flag were held proudly and most of us held our hands to our heart as we were given another history lesson. Eager to end this reaping, or to end the whole thing in general, an irritated looking Fi-Fi made her way to the woman's reaping bowl.

"Lets get this over with," she said. Most escorts fished around for the fateful slip for a tantalising amount of time, but Fi-Fi just snatched one out, clearly not caring about tension: "Our female tribute this year is Arabella Thern!"

Cries came from somewhere outside the square, probably from the girl's family. I heard sobbing and couldn't help but feel bad: I knew how the Games worked, and the girl who came out of the sixteen's section, shaking and crying, barely able to make it onto the stage without Peacekeeper assistance. Goner.

It was sad because she was so pretty, too. Not as pretty as Raffia (and since it was Raffia's last reaping, I gleefully noted she would never have to participate in the Games) but nobody was. She had dainty features, curly hair and the kind of dress my mother would always look at but never be able to buy.

"There there," Fi-Fi unsympathetically patted Arabella's shoulder, casting a glance at District Eight's only Victor – Mirane – in the hope that she could be assisted. When Mirane only looked at the floor guiltily she ignored the sobbing wreck of a girl and strode over to the male reaping bowl, snatching a piece of paper quickly. "And the male tribute is… A Mister Batiste Grayson."

When the air came out of her lungs, announcing my name, air flooded out of me too. It took a second to process, but soon I was choking. I turned around to face Tesu, as if he could help me, but he didn't dare. I wouldn't have volunteered for him either.

I'd been to multiple fake reapings with friends, I'd mastered the art of making my way to the stage coolly, but this was way different. It was like I could see the end of my life quite in front of me… And I was too young to die.

I tried to maintain any semblance of confidence as I made my way on the stage… Instead I was shaking like a leaf in a storm. From the stage I could see my mother, who was crying into my little brother's tufts of hair as he reciprocated. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

I had to at least survive to them, and increase my sponsor prospects. I needed to do something cool…

I tore off my shirt, exposing my skinny body, throwing it onto the floor and announcing proudly:

"You're looking at a Victor! I'll win!"

When that didn't get the response I quite wanted – when Peacekeepers and a few people in the crowd even sniggered audibly – I soon realised that angle probably didn't work, not in real life. There were Careers than were a million times taller and stronger than I was, I probably would look foolish next to them. I apologetically dropped my stance, eyes glued to the stage and barely daring to look at the audience before me.

"Well, that was entertaining, no?" Fi-Fi said, amusement dripping from her tone. I hoped my face was so stooped down that they didn't see the angry tears wetten my cheeks. "These are your tributes, District Eight! Tune in tonight to see it all on television!"

* * *

 **Thanks so much for your reviews! I'd reply but I've been so busy recently, but if you want to talk to me or have any questions you want answers to feel free to PM me or to participate in the forum (link is on my profile. There's also a Q &A thread if you have any Q's). **

**First batch of tributes - I seriously love them all, so I'm excited to show you all the others. One more reaping... :)**

 _ **~Toxic**_


	3. Never in Their Favour

**Lillian Collier, District 10, 17**

My small town in District Ten all seemed to leave their houses at the same time, as if we were ready to go to the Reaping in sync. The family next door opened their door almost exactly as we filed out into the front yard, giving us a brief smile of acknowledgement before they went their way. Ominously, our other neighbour, a woman who lived on her own, had closed all her shutters – as if she were mourning herself.

I glanced around our brief village, the only noises surrounding me being the sound of doors opening and closing and my brother repeatedly asking my mother for ice-cream, oblivious at what would lie ahead for some families.

"I hate Reaping day," I mumbled. Despite the scorching sun above, I couldn't help but rub around my arms as a chill hit me.

"Maybe it's because… Well, Reaping day isn't a happy day, is it?" My usually cheerful mother even frowned. She turned to my father, who was ensuring all of our doors and windows were locked, as thieves saw the mass exodus of people at Reaping day as a gold opportunity. "We all set to go, Mason?"

"Yeah, yeah," my father replied gruffly, before turning to me. "Now remember Lillian, the metro is crowded so make sure you stick closeby at all time, and keep your distance from the platform just in case the train comes and-"

"Dad," I smiled. I knew why he was so paranoid – Panem wasn't exactly the safest place to live, especially in the past five years. I guessed it was natural for my father to worry about me so much… He'd lost a daughter before. "I'm seventeen years old. I can handle myself."

"You say that Lillian, but just last week-" I zoned out when he started ranting about silly mistakes I'd made in the past, growing tired of his paranoia. Judging by my mother's expression, she was equally disinterested. We made our way down the street, politely greeting any families who we crossed paths with, before we made our way underground.

Considering very few people had cars and District Ten was spread out, public transport was always busy. It was particularly busy on Reaping day, when a lot of people had to go to the exact same place at the exact same time. My father held onto my hand, as I'd expect, and we managed to force our way into a train that bulged with people.

You'd learned to get used to be pervading smell of dung or sweat that filled the metro, but I was particularly bothered this time; it was so rare that you saw so many people bunched together whilst remaining so silent. No conversation, no mumbling, no music. There was no sound except the train thundering down the underground or occasionally screeching to a halt.

"Heading to Victoria Way, next station is Central Wisteria," a Capitolian accent crooned.

Whenever someone did whisper, his or her voice could always be clearly heard.

"I hear that they've put the heads of dead rebels outside the Justice Building on a pike-"

"- And now that District Thirteen are participating, we should expect some nasty surprises."

I made brief eye contact with my friend, Harley, who I could only slightly see with her own family down the carriage. When the train stopped at the next station, nobody left, but a few more people fought to get on.

"Next station, Central Ten – Town Square."

"Thank Panem," I mumbled exasperatedly to myself. When I realised people had listened to me, all of them giving me the eye, I felt somewhat embarrassed. A few of them laughed it off, including my mother, but I couldn't help but retreat into my own mind. In a place like Ten where social status kind of meant a lot, I'd become a very socially conscious person.

The doors opened and my mother held my brother's hand as he tried to swarm out with most of the crowd. I stayed back, swatting my dad's hand as he tried to clasp onto me. When the train was relatively empty and it was possible to breathe again, we followed suite.

"Do you think they'll ever repair some of the things down here?" My mother said, looking at the lights on the ceiling as they flickered on and off. The train jolted into life behind us, speeding into a void as we made our way to the broken set of escalators that would take us into the streets.

"Nah, they don't really care about whether the underground looks nice or not," I told my mother. As we ascended the escalator stairs, I couldn't help but get chills. The last time I'd gotten the metro to the Town Square, I'd seen bunches of people get systematically executed. It was something I hadn't forgotten. It haunted my dreams, sometimes. It was weird to think that the next time I'd come here I'd virtually witness two more people get executed in the square again.

"At least they've changed the advertisements," my father said. I glanced at the posters that were plastered to the wall: models advertising expensive Capitolian products most people couldn't afford but sometimes seemed to get anyway, and a lot of things advertising the reapings – both the times they'd be broadcast and the times they'd occur.

I realised very quickly that we were making small talk, something family members didn't usually do. We didn't talk at all, or we just talked about something that came to us naturally. All the conversation was forced, probably to mask the fact that there was a chance I wouldn't be home with my family for dinner tonight… Or I wouldn't join them for dinner again.

I bit my lip as light from above started to become visible, making me wince slightly. My sister had died a couple of years ago and though our family remained strong – we had to – we never quite recovered from it. Sometimes my mother would accidentally make an extra meal, or she'd call out Sierra's name. If they were to lose me too… Not that it'd happen. Panem was a cruel world; bombs, terrorism and poverty were all horrible. A simple cut that developed onto my sister's leg soon turned into a severe infection that claimed her life. I knew as well as most other people that life wasn't fair, but the chances of me being reaped were extremely unlikely.

That and I hadn't taken any tesserae. It would've helped if we did take it, because the extra grain and oil would have benefitted us, but my father would rather we go hungry some nights than increase the chances of me being thrown into a death match.

When we got to the town square, both my parents held me close.

"We're right here," my mother told me before kissing both cheeks. "I love you."

"I love you too," I grabbed her hand one last time. I wasn't too nervous. The chances of being reaped were slim, but they still existed. I stooped down to give my younger brother a quick peck on the cheek. Then I was on my way and waiting in line.

I had seen my friend Harley on the train earlier. Soon she seemed to push through the line, annoying some people as she stood right besides me.

"Hey! I had this spot reserved!" I heard her snap to a girl behind her before she turned to me. "Hey, how you doing?"

"Nervous, of course," I mumbled. "Where's Sabrina? And the others?"

"They might be in the square by now," Harley tried to survey the area, but it was no use: the streets were so crowded we were lucky to have even found each other. "Can't see anyone, but whatever. Sabrina is probably getting all loved up with her new flame anyway."

"Aw, it's nice Sabrina found someone," I said, happy we were gossiping rather than talking about the rather large elephant in the room. "She's always really wanted a boyfriend. She's happy."

"I know, I know," we slowly shuffled forward every few seconds as she line ahead began to retract. "I just think he's a prick."

"Just try to put on a happy face for Sabrina," I advised.

We continued moving forwards and talking about Sabrina's current situation for another ten minutes before we reached the front of the line. A fourteen year old boy was in tears as he entered the town square, obviously terrified at the potential fate ahead.

"I mean, she always told me that _my_ standards were low," Harley said, suddenly gasping when the Peacekeeper pricked her finger. She made her way through the turnstalls and looked me in the eye. "Meet me in the seventeens section."

"Yeah," I mumbled, holding out my finger and wincing when I was pricked. When I had first been pricked at my first reaping, my dad had made fun of me for crying. But it did really hurt.

After shaking my finger and hoping the pain left, I made my way to the seventeens section. Sure enough, my somewhat large friendship group were all huddled together and talking. A girl I knew named Marissa was crying and a few of the guys were comforting her.

"Everything okay?" I asked kindly.

"She's just scared," Sabrina said to me quietly. The conversation became much more hushed when the Mayor's speech began, and I was on the lookout for any Peacekeepers who would penalise us for talking. "She's just terrified at the prospect of being reaped. I mean after the brutal ways the Ten's died last year…"

"I get that," I bit my bottom lip nervously. Considering the Ten guy last year was literally ripped into two, things didn't exactly look good. I stood next to Harley, squeezing her hand reassuringly as we waited for the Mayor's speech to end. Eventually he was replaced by a man with a silver quiff and a smile that looked like he was happy to sentence innocents to death.

"It's lovely to be back for my seventh year as escort for District Ten!" Geonova Fillington announced proudly. "Once again, it is a particularly poignant year to remember the destruction the rebels have inflicted onto us," while I got that the rebels were no angels, I still didn't quite get why we had to be sent to a deathmatch for it. "Twenty-six tributes in, only one goes out. Will that man or woman be from District Ten?"

That was supposed to invoke some kind of applause. We all looked up at Geonova silently, too scared to speak.

"Well, I'm going to pick our wonderful lady," my stomach tightened. I hadn't taken tesserae, so I should be okay. But as I got older my chances increased… My chances still existed. I prayed to any god that existed to help me, closing my eyes and clasping my hands together. I felt Selena and Harley grab onto each other and onto me, waiting for the moment. "Lillian Collier!"

 _No…_

My friends around me gasped. There was a moment of silence as they all looked at me, tears welling up in their eyes. I looked around, startled, initially too shocked to process what was happening. I tried to control my breathing as I shakily made my way to the stage. I was silent as a mouse, looking at the crowd. Most of them wouldn't even make eye contact with me. I couldn't see my family, but there was an anguished scream that must have came from my mother. That was when the tears started flowing.

"Lillian, do you have a nickname? Anything to call you by?"

I wanted to tell Geonova to screw himself. "L-Lily."

"Your tribute is Lily!"

That was it. Sealed, done deal. District Ten had never had a volunteer but there was the chance a girl could've took my place – that wasn't happening. I cried more profusely, trying to clean my cheeks with my hands as people started to mumble sadly amongst themselves.

"And your male tribute this year is…" Geonova fished into the bowl before finally snagging something. He smiled. "Give it up everyone for Raleigh Everett!"

Another gasp came from the crowd, another person from Ten with friends and family who was now being dragged to their death. The same seemed familiar, so I briefly stared out in the crowd to see if it was anyone I knew. A boy in the crowd was frozen in fear on the spot, only moving to the stage when a Peacekeeper intercepted him from behind and pressed a gun into his back. That made the boy go into action; he almost ran onto the stage, his jaw looking like it had lost the ability to work. He looked almost as shocked as I did.

"Not my brother!" Someone in the crowd shouted, as if he had processed the moment. I found it hard to watch a young boy in the audience get shoved onto the floor by the Peacekeepers, though he still sobbed and clawed into the dirt. He was young, though – he wasn't going to volunteer.

I glanced at Raleigh, who was shakily telling Geonova a bit about himself, on the verge of tears. I recognised him from being in the school only a couple of miles from mine, I think one of my friends had dated one of his. Usually, when I looked at someone, I assessed trivial things about them: how good-looking they were, what colour their eyes were. I looked over those things – only two things about Raleigh stuck out to me: the fact he seemed more muscular than I did, and the fact that he had light scars that decorated the canvas of his flesh.

I didn't want to know what that said about him, and I didn't want to think about what that meant for mine or for his chances. All I knew was that the odds were stacked against me no matter who I was up against.

* * *

 **Arran Taron, District 12, 17**

Today had been my first day off in a whole year. I should have enjoyed it; my job was physically gruelling and after being a hunter for the Capitol I should have found it a relief to have a day where I didn't hunt refugees and slaughter them in their tracks. But I didn't. It didn't help that my family were all a bunch of assholes. Sure, they were assholes that cared about me, and assholes that I did love. But it doesn't matter if you loved an asshole or not – it's still an asshole, and you don't want to be around it for hours on end.

When I woke up, I noticed the sunlight glare into the room. Not from a window, mind you, but from the gaping hole in the ceiling. We still hadn't really found the funds to repair it after a single bomb had blasted a couple of holes in our ceilings almost a year ago. It was pretty shitty, especially in the winter, but now spring was here it was bearable.

Dressing in the smartest clothes I could find, which were admittedly not very smart, I made my way downstairs. As per usual, my mother and brother were in the kitchen and talking while breakfast was cooked.

"Oh wow, we get sausage?" I asked, moving closer to my mother and glancing at the fat bathed meats. "Maybe Reaping day isn't so bad after all."

"Everybody loves their sausages,"

"Maybe more than you think," I joked, earning my mother a glare.

I turned to my brother, who had quietened when I entered the room. He'd always been silent – not because he was an introvert, but because he hated me. I hated him too, or at least I think I did. We were once close as kids, but shit happened. After my father died, he blamed me. Then he soon blamed me for everything even though I made the biggest economic contributions to the house. He worked in the mines and my mother sewed clothes to make some extra cash, but I worked for the Capitol, and they paid me generously.

"Good morning to you too," I said dryly.

"Morning areola," he called me by the same old immature nickname, hiding his face behind a newspaper I knew he wasn't reading. Apparently he thought it was clever because areola sounded similar to Arran or something.

"You know, if I was going to name you after a body part," I moved closer to him and tore away the newspaper, leading him to glare at me. He was strong from working in the mines, and he was older too, but I was the fighter. "I would name you something much less pleasant."

"Oh, what's that?" Elliott sniggered.

"Cu-"

"Arran!" My mother gasped, knowing what word was coming out of my mouth. She walked over to me and snagged the newspaper from my grip, like it made a difference. "You too Elliott. This is Reaping day!" She looked between the both of us, genuinely upset. "Arran could be taken away today and never be seen again. Is it too much to want you to get along for _one_ day? One day of the year?"

She exhaled, looking like she was going to cry. Her guilt trip was enough to shut me up. I didn't say anything and sat at the dining table, though my brother didn't seem so contained: he stood up so harshly his chair almost toppled over behind him.

"I don't know if you remember what Arran did, but dad is dead," he glared at me. "Not all of us can forgive him for that."

He stormed out of the room dramatically and I had to consciously force my eyes to stay in place and not roll. My mother stared after my brother as he made his way out of the house.

"He doesn't mean that Arran," she said shakily.

"That's the thing," I bit my lip slightly. "He does."

"I don't blame you for anything," my mother smiled weakly and returned to the food, which must have burned by now. "Well, I know a lot of people like sausage but what do you think about burnt sausage?"

"It's cool," I paused. "Well, definitely not _cool_."

My mum always laughed at my more tame jokes. I felt horrible for thinking of her as an asshole, because she was kind, but she was also extremely naïve. In fact, before my father's death she'd always been pretty good at avoiding tragedy – especially as she lived in the Seam. But despite that she still held good faith in me, she knew what I did to survive, she knew my father would be alive if I wasn't born, and yet she still loved me preciously.

I agreed with Elliott, no matter how much my mother tried to reassure me otherwise. I used to hunt in the forest for prey, to provide my family with food, something a lot of Seam kids did every now and then when times got desperate. One day I'd been given a detention and my father thought I'd gotten in trouble at the forest, so he ventured out there…

My dad wasn't as stealthy or streetwise as I was. He was found and shot in the head.

It didn't stop me from doing what was necessary for survival, but I was playing on faulty luck. This time, the Peacekeepers didn't shoot me or any of the other hunters that flocked to the forest when times got rough in the winter. There were people leaving District Twelve by the masses, hoping to stumble into District Thirteen or even sail away to Romantia. It was our job to find those people and execute them… We were even given fancy Capitol weapons.

At first the job was mandatory; it was that or death. But eventually we got used to killing people, as twisted as that was. The Peacekeepers soon started giving us handsome sums of money, and it was just my job. Now life was a balance of school and work, and little else.

"Why don't we head to the Reaping?" My mother said, throwing a coat on as I jabbed at the crisp sausage with my knife. Even though wasting food was shameful, I wasn't hungry. "They'll be pretty soon and it's better to get there early than late."

"We both know what happens to people who break the rules," I sighed, running the blunt blade across my palm. We _did_ know. I'd experienced the pain of punishment, and now I was the one who dished the punishment out. "Yeah, I'm virtually done anyway."

I stood up and my mother folded her arms across her chest.

"Arran, really? Look at your hair, if god forbid you get reaped and they see your hair…"

I looked her in the eyes. "If I get reaped, I have more to worry about than my hairdo."

"Hm," was all my mother said, dissatisfied. "Fine, lets go."

We left our house, walking across the crumbling Seam. The Seam had never exactly been a desirable place, but since the bombing occurred there were large gaps in the concrete roads and many of the houses were damaged or in ruins. One particular street, close to the mines, was the most damaged; the whole village was just a crater and it had yet to be cleaned up.

I dodged past a man who led a horse drawn carriage full of old fruit down the street while my mother stopped to give a sympathetic glance at all of the damage.

"Thank goodness those bombs didn't ruin our lives," she said quietly.

"They weren't supposed to hit the houses," I said to her coldly. "They were strategic. They took out most of the mines," including my brother's mine, which put him out of work for six months and made life significantly harder. It didn't take the Capitol long to fix the mines up though, something they never did to the streets of houses _coincidentally_. "We were just the collateral damage."

"I wonder if Thirteen feels guilty, they believed they were doing the right thing by attacking the Capitol but we're… We didn't deserve this."

I grew annoyed with her sentimentality, but gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Lets forget it."

She still seemed upset, and starting mumbling something about dad as we passed the Seam and went through the merchant towns. Wherever we were, people seemed to glare at us. Though the Capitol's programme of using District kids to survey the District's parameters and hunt refugees was meant to be a secret, people had heard the rumours, and some of them – especially people who knew me in school – had probably heard that I was one of the people who co-operated with the Capitol.

District Twelve had revolved their opinion on rebellion; we didn't like rebels, but we strangely still had a distaste for the Capitol and silently begrudged them. I wasn't lowered to the status of a rebel, but I was still seen as somebody who was evil. My mother knew this too, but it helped put food on the table so she ignored the glares.

Thankfully District Twelve was a tiny District, only having three towns and a city, so we didn't even have to pay for public transport to get us to the centre. After a mere six or seven mile walk we were in the Central City, making our way to the town square.

"There are so many wanted posters up," my mother remarked, glancing at one of a curly haired woman who had 'REBEL' printed across her face.

"Operation Piranha isn't only happening in District Eight," I told her, walking ahead with floods of people. A helicopter flew above us, no doubt a camera crew who were taking panoramic aerial shots for television. "They're apparently offering nice cash incentives to anyone who kills a rebel."

"It's strange how you couldn't think they could get anymore brutal towards rebels," my mum said as we slipped through a few side streets and were soon clustered around the packed square. "Anyway, I guess I'll have to see you through. I'll be on the sidelines," she paused before she walked away. "I'll make sure to wave at you, maybe we'll even get you on television."

"Maybe," I said glumly as I waited in one of the many lines to be permitted into the square.

After a twenty-minute wait I finally got to the turnstiles. I kept an indifferent façade as he pricked my finger, an approving beep ringing.

"Good luck Arran," he said. I glanced through his visor, unable to see his face. I wondered who he was, or if he was familiar. After halting, I forced a polite smile before making my way into the seventeen's section. The Mayor was already droning out some kind of speech, unaware that the square hadn't even been filled yet.

I noticed a young girl in the twelve's section, she was the younger sister of a fellow hunter I worked with called Natalia. Like her sister, she was small and shrewd looking. I smiled at her briefly, but I think she didn't notice me. I made my way to the seventeen's section and stayed silent until the end of the speech came.

"And now to pass you onto our lovely escort, Lillian McNicks," the Mayor said, voice monotone. "Well, bye."

Nobody applauded when he went to the side of the stage, a sweet looking woman with dark hair took his place, her face icy-blue and glittery thanks to some make-up.

"Hello District Twelve," she said. "It's a pleasure to be escorting for you all again." She waited for an applause that would never come. "Well, the Mayor has said everything that's been said on the history – I think it's time that we get to the Reaping itself, no?" I wondered if she'd been purposely instructed to miss the dull movie we usually watched every year. She was running late. "As always, ladies first…"

She gracefully made her way to the reaping bowl, her smile fading and becoming more nervous as she dipped her hand into it. I didn't blame her for being nervous: she was practically playing god, she was likely sentencing someone to death. At best she was going to choose someone's fate as a famous celebrity who probably had to suffer with some psychiatric disorder following a traumatic ordeal, as was cliché for lower District Victors.

That said, we were District Twelve, a nation of weeds with lots of Bloodbath fodder. We weren't producing Victors anytime soon.

"Cassandra Diorite!"

The whole crowd gave a shocked gasp they'd usually give when a twelve year old or disabled child was reaped; the girl who was selected was neither. She lost her brother last year to the Games, and to make things worse all of her family had been killed in the recent bombing raids. It was so brutal that I almost laughed nervously, even though I genuinely felt bad for her. She didn't even cry and scream like most of the reaped in Twelve did. She went significantly paler, but slowly made her way to the stage as if she had already accepted her fate – as if she had expected it, even.

"Oh…" Lillian looked nervous as Cassandra stood on stage, head bowed. "Well… You aren't any relation to Luke…?"

"He was my brother," Cassandra's voice was trembling.

Lillian bit her bottom lip nervously, and sympathetically put her hand around Cassandra's shoulder. "I'm sure you'll make him very proud."

Cassandra didn't respond. I realised she was practically shell-shocked. I'd have thought of her as brave if I didn't know of her history; she'd already faced the worst in life, her prospects had eroded to nothing. She probably didn't care anymore.

"Well, onto the boys," Lillian said when Cassandra didn't co-operate with her. She was quicker to pick the slip of paper this time. My gut twisted when I realised that she could be announcing my name: "Representing Twelve this year is a Mr. Arran Taron-"

Oh dear Panem. It _is_ me.

I thought of myself as brave, but the air left me for a second. My mother's voice screamed something indiscernible. A few people I knew vaguely, old school friends, looked at me with their jaws unhinged.

I instinctively found the nails of my left hand gripping my right hand's arm so harshly that blood was drawn. Trying to maintain a brave façade despite my fear, I walked towards the stage and remained rooted there, looking out to half of District Twelve like a rabbit in the headlights.

… But I wasn't a rabbit. I was the predator, and not the prey. And even though this game would have brutal Careers and maybe even tributes in, I couldn't let myself forget that. Moral dilemma one of the Games had already been crossed off: I'd killed before, multiple times. I just had to keep my track record up.

* * *

 **Jordyn Rossi, District 1, 18**

Clay had always been more experienced than I had: he started off as a potential Victor, only missing out on his chance of volunteering due to some mishap he had with District One's academy, joined the military and then become one of the head trainers in the academy. When they kicked him out, thing got bitter between them.

So it made sense that when he ran his own independent training programme, which was much cheaper than District One's official one, that he would be able to beat me even though I'd trained with him for the past couple of years. However, six months before I planned to volunteer things had began to change. I started beating him regularly; then as my motivation increased I'd begun to win more than I lost.

Our last training session was no exception. Clay charged at me with his axe, swinging it towards me and expecting me to dodge. Unorthodox, but whatever. I ducked under it, slashing my urumi towards him and watching the blade curl around his leg, leaving a gash.

He fell to the floor, blood spilling as I slipped a knife from my boot and leapt down, pinning him and holding the blade against his throat.

"Dead," I told him, smirking.

I heard him wheeze with pain a little. I guess one reason I was beginning to beat the man was that he was ageing, and he did indulge in plenty of unhealthy habits.

"Just remember to not get into the torture shit," he reminded me.

"Huh? Why?" I'd never considered torture before anyway. A quick, clean kill seemed practical to me. Clay grabbed my throat so harshly I was sure it would bruise and then flipped me over so that he was the one pinning me down.

"Because if you give them any chances to get you, they'll take it. Even untrained tributes have common sense and a survival instinct," his eyes glanced into mine, grey and somewhat dazed. "The more sadistic brand of Careers always suffer because of it. They spend too much time enjoying torturing and taunting people, and they die because of it."

"Yeah, I don't get off on it," I shoved him off me slightly. "Now get off me, I don't want to break my ribs before my own reaping."

He stood up, wincing as he hobbled to a makeshift first aid station. He began to bandage his leg up, and I did feel bad for him. During sparring he made sure to never actually hurt me, but I never stopped my urumi from slashing or whipping him.

"So, I won't see you for another couple of weeks," he said as he tightened his bandages.

I leaned on a weapons rack. "Or you may never see me again," I acknowledged. That would've sounded sentimental with anyone else. You'd think that Clay and I would be close, as he'd virtually been my mentor for years. But it just wasn't like that; we'd both had business-like minds.

"I _will_ see you again," Clay stood up and took a drink of Panem knows what from his trusted flask. He exhaled and made eye contact with me. "You depend on coming back – you've worked your whole life for this," I opened my mouth and he interrupted me. "And I depend on it too, Jordyn. I risked so much for this. I could've done stupid shit like security and had a stable income and I've risked so much to elevate you," he stopped me from arguing back again: "If you win, my academy looks good and gets more people wanting to train, and it makes me money. If you lose, I'll probably be a national humiliation."

"I know, I know," I sighed. I guess I had to ignore the fact that he didn't exist just to lift me into fame; he advertised this academy and I was his only trainee, due to the fact he wasn't popular for obvious reasons.

"I've let you train here for a mere ten credits a week," he said to me. That was still a lot, I still had to work hard in menial jobs to be trained. "And that's not worth the sum of training, plus the meal recommendations I've been given you."

"I promised you ten percent of my winnings in my first year," I said. "That's thousands of credits, okay? You should be happy. I appreciate you Clay."

He swept his gaze over me.

"That's why you need to win."

"Well I'm volunteering today, and I aim to win."

"Do you have an interview angle?"

"I'll just kind of pull the stoic thing, make them think I'm dark and mysterious and tough."

Clay seemed to like that answer. He nodded approvingly, before continuing to prompt me for answers: "And your arena strategy?"

I repeated the rehearsed line: "Ally with the Careers for the guaranteed supplies, kill the lower District tributes with the higher scores in the Bloodbath to get some of the competition out of the way, try to avoid fights with people who have a higher score than I do and be prepared for my allies to betray me at any minute. If necessary, I betray them when they least expect it."

"You remembered."

"It's not hard."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled and at down on a dusty couch, wincing slightly. "Now you get your arse home and dress up in something decent – you mighn't be your typical hot District One girl, but the Capitol will still appreciate it if you try." I'd have snapped at Clay for being rude if he didn't kind of have a point. "I'll see you in the Justice Building later today."

"See you later," I said bluntly, grabbing my gym bag and preparing to meet the glaring sun of District One outside.

* * *

Choosing what dress to wear was actually quite difficult, especially because I never quite did dresses. I had them, for occasions like funerals when it was socially expected to wear them, but I avoided them in favour for practical clothing. I didn't suit them very much. When I wore a black dress I usually used for funerals, I looked too serious. I wore a revealing red dress that belonged to my Aunt and quickly realised that the whole slutty look didn't fit me well either, considering I didn't really have any assets per se.

I was an unusual breed of District One girl. I didn't do stereotypes, but a lot of District One girls were your leggy blonde Careers who looked like they'd be comfortable on a Capitolian magazine. I was short, dark and possessed rough features. I looked like I belonged in District Two but was delivered to the wrong District.

My aunt, Lucia, often joked that I did arrive at her place in a parcel. Nobody seemed to really know where I came from, or what my heritage was. I was a nobody, so I don't think anyone particularly cared. All I knew was that Lucia, despite looking nothing like me, was my biological aunt and that she was the one who looked after me. And she did. We weren't close, we barely saw each other, but I wish Lucia knew how much she inspired me. My desire to join the foreign Peacekeeper corps was inspired by her. She was a figure of the law, working as a Peacekeeper herself.

I was rejected because of my height, but Lucia encouraged me to keep finding purpose. So I did: after my compulsory training in the Academy, I sought to take my training even further and became a Hunger Games' tribute. Lucia was already a divorced mother of three, and couldn't afford for me to train, so I took matters into my own hands. And now I was here, worrying over something as stupid as how I looked in a dress.

Lucia peered in and smiled when she saw me with make-up scrawled on my face.

"Oh Jordyn," she walked into the room and began to fix my hair up. "I never realised quite how beautiful you were."

I looked at my reflection in the mirror, smiling somewhat bashfully.

"I didn't realise how good a liar you were," I told her.

"Don't be silly!" She turned me around forcefully, using a wet wipe to tidy my make-up slightly. She grabbed some lipstick and eyeliner off her counter, using it to make a quick touch up. "With just a little bit of polish you'll be giving a lot of Capitolians an incentive to sponsor you."

"You think so."

"I know so," she leaned back slightly, looking down at me. "You don't have to do this, you know."

"I do," I replied. "This is the only chance I have of making it, I have nothing to lose."

"You think that," she pursed her lips slightly. "You're not my daughter, but…" She sighed. "I'm just glad most of my children are past reaping age. Well, Arwen is fifteen but thanks to brave girls like you she won't be worrying about being reaped… Much…"

Emphasis on the much. Last year District One had its first reaped tribute in at least two decades… It ended messily.

"She'll be fine," I reassured her. "You'll visit me at the Justice Building?"

"Of course," she leaned in and hugged me tightly. "And I'll be supporting you every step of the way, Jordyn. Make sure Arwen gets to the square safely, I'll be there in time to see you make your way onto the stage."

That's assuming I even got onto the stage; I had to declare my candidacy as volunteer before any other Career girl did. Hopefully I'd be the girl who stood on that stage, because I honestly saw no other future ahead of me. This was the only thing in life I was good at…

I made my way down the one flight of stairs; Arwen was waiting at the doorway in a floral dress. She had District One's typical features: wheat blonde hair and a face that would make an angel jealous.

"You ready to get to the square, pipsqueak?" I asked her.

"Mhmm," she said disinterestedly, throwing a book aside. "So are you going to volunteer for real?"

"Yeah."

I closed the door behind us. My Aunt was paid the average in District One, and considering we were the richest District outside of the Capitol I didn't want to know what the average was in other Districts - we were surrounded by two or three storied terraced houses that were as bland and pristine as One's residents.

"I know I don't see you much, but I'll miss having a girl in the house," she told me as we made our way down the road, towards the tram station "Boys can be rats."

"Your dad's having a baby though, right? She could be a girl."

"Maybe," I reached in my pocket and found a few spare credits, getting two tram tickets to the centre of One. As expected on reaping day, the trams were filled to the brim. We waited with crowds of others, not even able to slip into the packed carriages. I watched the tram sail through the streets without us. "You know it won't be the same."

"You act like we're best buddies," I laughed.

She didn't respond to that. When the next tram came, I grabbed Arwen's hand and dragged her into the tram. The doors closed behind us and we began to make our way through District One.

"Stay close," I instructed.

"You act like I'm eight," Arwen rolled her eyes.

We remained squeezed into the carriage for another thirty of so minutes, passing a mine town where gems were extracted and one of One's large cities. As the buildings around us grew bigger, I knew we got more central. I managed to see Arwen through a horde of people and gestured to her that this was our stop. Not that she needed to be told: the majority of people in the tram got off at this point, all walking through the marble streets in sync until we reached the town square. Arwen and I separated, as she wanted to meet up with some friends. I stood in the large lines, which began to flood from the square to the surrounding streets.

The Peacekeepers didn't acknowledge anyone they permitted, quickly wanting to get the Reaping over and done with. My finger was pricked and that was it; I made my way into the town square, had to fight my way to the eighteen's, and looked at the stage with a sense of purpose. I _had_ to get the volunteer slot this year. I had to.

When Mayor Trug made his way onto the stage, I watched him intently and prepared to volunteer at any minute. He slurred over his speech, obviously somewhat inebriated, and finally made his way off stage. He wobbled slightly, aided to his seat by One's sole victor and my soon to be mentor, Luster Harbetto.

"Sorry about that," the escort, Leena, said frustratedly into the microphone. Leena was petite, beautiful and an outright bitch. "Anyway, ignoring your stupid Mayor, lets get to business: the two-hundredth and fifth annual Hunger Games!" She clapped enthusiastically, many people in District One going along with it. She used the out-dated phrase: "And may the odds be in District One's favour."

A projected documentary filled up the stage, giving us the history we all knew. Leena placed both hands to her heart, passionately reciting the dialogue herself. I scanned the eighteen's section and noted a lot of people were acting in a similar way.

"Without further ado," Leena's high-pitched voice brought me back to reality. I remembered that I had to pay full attention to get that volunteering position. "It's time to select the tribute who will be representing District One this year," she made her way to the female reaping bowl and dunked her hand in, not even bothering to try and create tension due to the near certainty of a volunteer. "And our female tribute this year will be a wonderful Pristacia-"

"I volunteer!" I raised my hand and shouted at the top of my lungs before she even finished the name. Was that allowed? All eyes were on me. Cameras were probably on me.

Leena glanced at me. "Your name?"

"Jordyn Rossi," I said as loudly as I could so that the mics could catch my voice. Why the hell was I trembling?

"Make your way onto stage," I strode towards the stairs, ascending and looking at the huge crowd in front of me. I tried looking out for my aunt, but there was no luck. A few people were glaring at me, probably because I'd ruined theirs or their friend's volunteering prospects. I realised very quickly that I had to prove myself to District One; I was a Career in theory, but I wasn't an established one. To the Careers, I was the same as any other citizen.

"Well, may the odds be ever in your favour," Leena said again in a creepy way before she made her way to the male reaping bowl. I wasn't even paying much attention to the Reaping process; I was focusing too much on looking cool, or pretty, or _something_ that would make me stand out.

"Can we have a lovely Miles-"

"I volunteer," a deep, calm voice shouted from a sea of eighteen year old's. I knew there would be a fellow volunteer joining me – it was District One. Biting my lip, I wanted to see who would emerge from the crowd. Leena talked to him slightly, but I didn't see a face until he finally made his way onto the stage. He looked like your typical One guy, really. Blonde haired, fair skinned and features that were so chiselled you'd think they were made from diamond. I must have stuck out like a sore thumb compared to him.

"Your name, dear?" Leena asked excitedly, placing the microphone in front of his lips.

"Rosario," he said proudly. "Rosario Vogel. I'm proud to be representing District One in the Games this year, ma'am."

The audience burst into applause, cheering Rosario's words. He turned to them and bowed while I shied in the background, suddenly feeling pretty unremarkable. I refrained from glaring at the back of his head, just in case the cameras caught me, but knew that this guy was charismatic and he was in it to win it.

He was definitely a Career, too. He'd know how to fight; but he'd have been shaped by District One's trainers, a processed and perfect warrior. I bet he didn't know how to fight dirty when it came to it.

* * *

 **Syncis Allomoi, District 3, 16**

"Syncis," my mother entered my room, where I'd been sat on the bed and staring at the window. Ever since they had accused me of being schizophrenic they had shut me in and excused me from school on medical grounds, so Reaping day was the only day where I was _actually_ outside. I wasn't viewing the world through a dusty window in my bedroom; I was part of it. "Are you ready to go out?"

"Yes," I said, my voice somewhat monotone.

It was rare I got to experience emotion nowadays. It was the medication my evil doctor had given me, or it was probably the fact my parents thought that locking me away would somehow make me better, but I'd been depressed and isolated. Even the excitement of going outside didn't blunt the knowledge that after the Reapings I'd be shut away again.

I just wished I could go out into the big, wide world. The friends who kept my company when I was at my loneliest had told me that I was destined go out there and do something huge. And I probably would if I wasn't shut away, drugged on the doctor's orders.

I just sat at the end of the bed as my mother used her own comb to smoothen my unkempt dark hair. She grabbed a spray of something and squirted it all over my body.

"I wish we had the money to get you washed," she sighed, using a wipe of sort and scrubbing it over my face. "I think it would do you good if you had one right now."

I guessed that was the problem with well-meaning parents… they always _thought_ that something benefited you. Often, it didn't. When I had told them about the friend's in my head, or my theory that they had lost children that had joined me, the first thing they did was take me to the doctor.

They didn't know of my gift to see things which other's could not. And then the doctor they took me to lied to them, he knew of my destiny but because of his demonic intentions he slapped some meaningless label on me and tried to medicate my abilities away from me. To my parents' despair, and my joy, that didn't work; it only made me more hungry and lethargic.

"Now lets see if you've hurt yourself," my mother grabbed my sleeves and yanked them back, noting the plethora of scars that decorated my arm. None of the cuts were fresh.

"How many times do I have to tell you," I looked her in the eye. "I never hurt myself. My friends did it."

"Which friends?" My mother asked seriously, as if trying to understand me.

"Mara."

" _Who_ is Mara, Syncis?" She said, her voice brimming with emotion for some reason.

"I've told you a hundred times but you won't listen," I pulled my arms away from her, letting the sleeves slip back up to my wrists again. "She's the same as Fuse. They were both your children but they died and they're in my head," I turned away from my mother and stared out of the window again. The dirty streets of Three began to fill up with families who made their way to the Reaping. "There's others, too. But only Mara and Fuse have names."

I heard my mother sob behind me for a moment. She never understood or listened. I would feel bad for her if she wasn't so deceived and fooled.

"Lets just make our way to the Reaping. You do what you did last year, Syncis. You stand in that square, you don't talk to anyone, you wait for someone else to be reaped and you lea-"

"Fuse told me not to go to the Rea-"

"I'm your mother!" She snapped, actually scaring me and making me turn to face her tear soaked face. "If we don't go to the Reapings, we get punished. I don't care what you think about the situation, we've already gone out on a limb to give you medication and to get you out of school, if you think the government are giving us anymore favours you really are insane," it stung that she thought that of me. I'd known it all along but she'd never said it outright before. I looked ashamedly at the palm of my hands while my mother grabbed some fresh clothes and threw them at me. "You put on these clothes and you make your way downstairs immediately."

She stormed outside, her cries growing louder as she slammed the door behind her so that the room around me shook. The numbness lingered for a little longer, followed by the pain of just being misunderstood. I pulled at me own hair and screamed with frustration, burying my face into my knees.

* * *

After crying for another five minutes I decided resistance was futile. This was a prison, and there was no escaping or disobeying, not when the doctor visited. With that, I stood up, changed into the plain white clothes my mother had set out, and crept down the stairs.

I hadn't seen my younger sister in a month. She'd always been told to avoid my room at all costs. She looked a lot like me, and I imagine that had Mara been allowed to live she'd look similar: petite, with wide brown eyes and beautiful dark hair. I smiled at her weakly, and she smiled back.

"Are you okay?" I asked. I'd never had a normal conversation in a while.

"Um, yeah," she avoided eye contact for a moment. "Dad made breakfast, if you want any."

"Thanks," I said. It felt weird to be so shy around my own sister. She made her way up the stairs, and I made my way into the kitchen. My father had been frying something. He slipped an omelette from the pan to the plate, and placed it on our rusted kitchen counter.

"This mine?"

"Yeah," dad said. When I went over to collect it, he glanced at me and whispered in a low voice so that my mother – who was in the room, washing dishes in dirty water – couldn't hear. "Look, I know things have been hard for all of us, but just do what your mother tells you, okay? Please don't upset her on Reaping Day." I bit my lip and nodded. "Good. I'll buy you some candy or a treat you want after, for being good."

I knew what that translated to: _I'd compromise with you, pacify you, but never give in to you. No matter what you do I'll still follow the evil doctor's order, I'd still try to subdue your gift from above, I'd still believe you were insane._

"That'd be nice," I replied, my tone contrasting sharply from what I really knew. But in this hellhole protesting would only get me into trouble. No matter how much Fuse told me to do otherwise, I knew that going along with commands would be better than resistance.

After eating breakfast, my mother and father told me it was time to go. Even though it was early in the morning, we didn't have enough money for public transport so had to walk a whole three hours before we got to the town square. It made me feel bad for my little sister, Connec; she was only ten and didn't even need to go to the Reaping, but still tired herself out anyway.

The walk to the town square was pretty uneventful; we just walked with the other families. We must have looked like a mass exodus. When the urban landscape slowly became more picturesque, and the towering factories and their clouds of soot could only be seen in the horizon, I knew we were close by.

"We're going with Connec to watch the whole thing from the side," my mother told me, leaning in and kissing my cheek. In a rare display of affection, she held me close for a moment. I forgot how she smelled of lavender, her favourite cheap perfume. "Just be good and don't do anything drastic, okay?"

"Okay," I smiled, making my way to one of the lines so that our attendance was registered.

The Reaping process was so long and boring, beyond the long tiring walk we also had to wait in long lines for another half hour. I was almost relieved when I finally reached the front. The Peacekeeper grabbed my hand, briefly pricking my finger. The shock stung a lot and I bit my lip to stop myself from yelling. A single bead of blood made its way out of my finger, which was scanned. I was finally permitted into the square, wondering why the hell the attendance process had to be so painful.

 _Why don't you volunteer?_ I heard Fuse's voice muse. _That would be a pretty easy way to escape the demon doctor._

"Don't be stupid," I snapped at him as I made my way to the sixteen's section. My obvious talking to myself led me to get some looks from fifteen year olds.

I didn't know any other kid in District Three, other than Connec. In elementary school, before I had my gift, I did have plenty of friends. I couldn't remember their names, but they must have remembered mine. When some of my fellow sixteen year olds began staring at me – I was positive they were – I was willing to bet that some of them recognised my face.

They must have seen me as that kid who developed a gift and had to be taken out of class because of it. I ignored their stares as the Mayor gave some speech I didn't really particularly care for. Fuse, Mara and all the other people in my head continued to rabble and argue, blocking out any noise. I mumbled to myself, staring at the floor.

I only noticed one thing happening around me: some girl's name was called and people along the sidelines, close to my parents, began screaming and crying. I didn't know what the hell was happening.

"Syncis Allomoi!" A high-pitched male voice called. "Syncis, please make your way up to the stage."

… Did the escort, the man on the stage with weird make-up, call my name? I looked around, the sea of people also looking confusedly for a boy they'd never heard of.

I was confused. I didn't know much about the Reapings, only that they were connected to the Hunger Games. When kids were called, they never came back. That meant I would never come back… It made sense that I was suddenly going into some kind of death match.

This was a plot. Maybe my parents were even involved, or the even doctor. They were scared of my talent. They wanted me taken away from District Three, never to return. Everybody was against me. I abruptly screamed, turning and only running into a broad chested Peacekeeper. The force of his push sent me lying onto the ground while the teens around me kept their distance, gasping and even screaming as I was virtually dragged onto the stage. I didn't even cry, but inside I knew everything was suddenly over.

When I was thrown onto the stage I remained on my knees. I could hear my mother sobbing, and the sobbing from the adults that I'd heard earlier was still audible. I looked out at thousands and thousands of people with wide, scared eyes. What the hell was I going to do?

"Your name, dear?" The escort crouched, pushing a microphone to my lips.

"I'm Syncis," I said weakly. "I'm… I'm Syncis."

"Your tributes, District Three, Syncis and Frankie!"

The only other person on the stage was a girl with wild hair and dark skin. She didn't seem to have made as much of a scene as I had, and when people in the square began to mumble and make their way back to their homes, I noticed her approach me.

She held out of her hand and I gripped it, where she pulled me to my feet.

I looked down at her and she spoke clearly.

"Don't do anything like that again. They won't be afraid to hurt you."

"They've already hurt me," I said to her, my voice barely above a whisper.

* * *

 **Longer chapter again, and it wasn't well edited, my apologies.**

 **Just another reminder that it's possible I will deviate from the forms. These may be minor or drastic, so if changes happen please don't be confused or upset! Once again, thanks everyone for the reviews. :)**

 _ **~Toxic**_


	4. More Than Just Blood

**Guys, I have a really awful announcement. I just feel so stressed out with life and demotivated, so am discontinuing this fic. This is the last chapter – hopefully it'll conclude things nicely.**

* * *

 **Alina Parrish, District 5, 15**

I'd never been good at hiding my emotions, and it really showed; the moment I'd been reaped I tried to remain stoic and neutral, but instead found myself reduced to tears. When I watched the crowd of children in front of me seep out into the streets, all relieved that they'd survived another year, I continued shaking fear and devastation gripped me. I was virtually staring death in the face, and in a mere week he'd be chasing me.

"Now," Contessa, our green skinned escort put her arm around my District partner and I's shoulders. "I understand this is all very new and shocking, but we have a busy schedule ahead. You're famous now!"

Technically, I wasn't. I'd be famous in a few hours.

"Do I get to say goodbye to my family?" I asked weakly. Xavier, my District partner, perked his head up at the question.

"Of course!"

That made me feel a little bit better. There were so many things I had to say, so many dreams I dreamed. I definitely couldn't resolve everything in a day, or even a year, but maybe I could establish some kind of closure before boarding a train to the Capitol and never coming back. I just nodded appreciatively and began to sob again as we were led like prisoners to the Justice Building.

District Five was very labyrinthine – a lot of the buildings were very tall and wide, its citizens living in tiny apartments and going to communal schools or workplaces, so to see a single unit building like the Justice Building had already fascinated me. Its monumental qualities outside were supplemented by the rich décor inside

I was on the lookout for Five's only surviving victor – our mentor – as we were led away. She was pretty much my only chance of surviving. We were technically only given three days to prepare and train for the Games, but I knew she could provide me with some vital resources if I asked. She was nowhere to be seen amongst the wide corridors. The only people that passed us were stern Peacekeepers or timid Avoxes.

"This is your room," Contessa opened the door and smiled. I saw Xavier glare at her once, before he went in and closed the doors behind him.

There was something disconcerting about Xavier. I think it was the way he reacted when he was reaped – people burst into tears when they were reaped, or at the very least they looked somewhat numb and scared. You'd be stupid to feel any differently. But Xavier seemed to act like he knew it was going to happen; there was still fear and emotion, but it just wasn't _right_.

"And you're this room," she said, opening a wide doorway close to where Xavier's room. "Your family will pay you a visit." She glanced at a wristwatch. "You have twenty minutes, our train departs in thirty-five minutes."

My eyes began to get sore from the tears. I used my thumb to sweep them away, nodding and sniffing.

"Thanks."

She strode away and I closed the door behind me, leaning against it and collapsing. I was scared and confused. I didn't know what the road ahead of me would be. I only knew I'd go to the Capitol, be paraded around to give them some revenue, and then be made to participate in a deathmatch. What happened in between what was broadcast was relatively unknown to the people within the District – I didn't even know I got the chance to say goodbye to loved ones. I hoped my family found out they could visit me relatively quickly.

After hearing some banging outside, I stupidly opened the door slightly. The few Peacekeepers outside the corridor had all congregated around the front of Xaviers' doorway. He seemed to be stirring up chaos as I heard him shouting something angrily.

"I just want to know if my family are alive!" He cried out through the door, before releasing a pained scream. Fear struck me and I slowly slipped the door closed so I wasn't caught eavesdropping, pressing my ear against the door. "J-Just let me see my f-fucking family!"

What the hell was happening there?

I'd almost forgotten that I was upset and in danger. Looked like my suspicions that there was more to my District partner than met the eye, as I had thought. Suddenly shaking more profusely, I made my way to a pillow-smothered sofa at the end of the room and sat down. Everybody knew the Games were still political, and that they were manipulated, and there was all sorts of conspiracy behind it. What if this was related to it?

I chewed my nails, reminding myself not to do that when my mother was in the room. As the doors opened and members of my family made their way inside, I stood up and began to cry profusely again.

"Oh thank Panem you guys got here," I said, rushing over to my mother and hugging her tightly. She shook with tears to the point where she almost collapsed, and I led her to the chair where I was sitting and let her fall onto it. My father struggled behind, manually forcing his wheelchair forwards. I could tell from his expression that he was in pain – no doubt he'd been starved of the painkillers he depended on.

"You know we wouldn't miss you for the world," he smiled weakly through his own silent tears.

I carefully dropped to my knees and hugged him tightly too, devastated at the prospect of never seeing him again. My father was my everything. He was my inspiration. When I was young, he worked night and day to ensure I could get a good education and have a good life of my own. Even after a devastating accident that left him crippled, he continued to find odd jobs where he could in the garage – we were too poor to have any other choice – but he couldn't work like he used to. My mother was always absent too, struggling to find work but finding odd jobs that were always short lived due to Five's unpredictable economy... But part-time work in Panem was rare, and my mother needed to spend her days caring for my father. Our income dropped despite our best efforts.

So I was forced to step in; it didn't make much, as I was a mechanic in a measly garage like my father was, and when I balanced that with school hours I got by. It was incredibly exhausting, but I kept throwing in my determination to keep my grades afloat. There wasn't a single day off, but my determination to lift myself out of poverty and survive kept my engine running. I couldn't let any curveballs life threw at me to stop me.

… Except this one. One hand, Contessa's, plucked a sheet of paper and the house of cards collapsed. I didn't know how my family were going to manage without me.

If I survived, I'd be given incalculable wealth. But that was the biggest _if_ in my life, and no matter how hard I worked the chances were slim. It wasn't something I'd ever volunteer for. But I wasn't a volunteer, this was something I was being forced into.

"I'm going to miss you both so much," I said, alternating between hugging and kissing both of their cheeks. They barely spoke through the tears. "I-I'm going to try and make it back home," I said, sitting on the ground. I couldn't let this one thing stop me from trying for my family. "I can't promise I'll come home… I know that, but I'm going to fight."

"D-Do you really think you can kill?" My mother said, a little horrified.

I knew how to change tires or block oil leaks, not kill people. And I definitely didn't like the thought of killing people, being a cold-blooded murderer for the nation and my own family to see. But I think I'd rather kill than be killed. I was sure my family would rather see me be a murderer than a victim, right?

"Yes," I said uncertainly, trying to use the hem of my dress to clean any snot that streamed from my nose. "I-I have to."

"We love you no matter what," my father ran his hands through my hair. "Just know that."

"I will..." I paused for a minute as silence took over. I considered asking them if they'd noticed anything unusual at Xaviers' door, but realised very quickly that since this was our last few moments it wasn't worth it when I could talk to them about other things. "I need you guys to work on surviving without me," I felt awkward and cruel but couldn't mince my words. "You were dependant on my income… I…"

"We'll both work," my mother said dismissively, as if she didn't want to think about it. "I'll find odd jobs."

"How can you do that? You need to look after dad."

"I will find other work, or… Or something," he sighed, his face trembling slightly. "We will just have to make sacrifices."

That was codename for them not having a solution. The thought of dying, of all my work and effort having no outcome, hurt. But I could deal with it, because I wouldn't be alive to face the pain. However, I couldn't stomach the prospect of my parents struggling. Maybe they wouldn't even struggle – we _were_ struggling. They would starve; they would possibly even die without me. The more they insisted they'd be fine, the more I realised that I was repairing more than cars...

I was fixing and maintaining our own lives.

"I have to come back, don't I?" I said to myself, suddenly terrified.

"No…" My mother halted, realising that could be taken out of context, as if it sounded like she was fine with the prospect of my death. She grabbed my hands so tightly they hurt, sobbing and shaking her head. "Your father said so, we'll be proud of you no matter what."

"B-But…" I tried not to weep. I failed. "Lets be real… Without me…"

My mother pulled me close and we both cried almost as hard as we had when I had initially been reaped. Awkwardly, my father joined in and we cried together. I wasn't crying for me this time; I was crying for the parents who needed me, for the friends I had made and could have made, for the husband I'd never marry and the children I'd never have.

When I thought about how the Hunger Games were bad, I thought they were because they ruined twenty-four lives every year. But we never saw the people behind the scenes – they probably ruined hundreds, maybe even thousands, in ways we could've never expected.

My father kissed both of my cheeks one last time, unable to find any words to express the grief we all felt. I looked at the small model of a rocking horse in my hands, a small figurine. It had apparently been a family heirloom kept by my father's family; he often said it dated back to pre-Panem, but I was sceptical of that claim. Anything left from pre-Panem could be sold to a museum or something similar for a pretty penny.

Hopefully it really was that way. If it was, maybe my parents could be kept afloat that little longer without me to support them. The moment I died they'd be cast into a dark and unpredictable stream.

* * *

 **Tamal Arbor, District 7, 15**

I never thought I'd feel my heart break inside of me before. I thought when they said heartbreak it was just an expression, but the moment I was Reaped a pain ached in my chest and I struggled to breathe. It felt like my life was collapsing around me. I stood onto the stage, feeling the most dread and sadness in my life before being paraded into Seven's Justice Building.

As soon as the cameras weren't focusing their attention on me, and the shock wore away, I burst into tears. Without any sympathy the Peacekeepers escorted me into my room, where I would later say goodbye. I rushed over the plush chair, which was mine to sit in, pressing my face onto its silken material as I cried.

… I was going to die. I couldn't die. I was too young for this, and I had so much ahead of me… There were so many people I'd leave behind…

I wished I could have been told that this was some big practical joke. But the more I realised this wasn't a nightmare the more I gagged, not even able to summon any vomit or bile.

"Tamal," a gentle voice said behind me. Still crying, I turned around to face my parents… Or the parents who had virtually adopted me, the people who taught me that family was much more than just blood.

"Alycia," I tried to hold back the tears once I saw her kind, wizened face. Her husband stood alongside her and I acknowledged him by his first name too. "Marin."

"W-We wanted to say goodbye," Alycia rushed forward and hugged me. I wanted to cry, but felt like my tears had dried out. I was probably dehydrated from all the crying I'd done in the last five minutes. This evolution of emotions became hard to handle – first the most extreme shock I've ever experienced and then the most extreme sadness. And I'd been through a lot in my life as the Carr family, my adoptive family, knew.

My old family, the Arbors, were strict Hindus. They'd signed a pledge to the state promising the state came first, moreso than religion, but I knew that was a lie. They were dedicated to religion and believed in things that I'd now consider archaic, including arranged marriage and an intolerance of gay people.

In a twist of cruel irony, I once believed it too. Until puberty hit me and I realised I _was_ gay. When I fell in love with another man, I couldn't deny it to myself. They kicked me out and I rented a room in the Carrs' household, as they were close neighbours. Eventually we grew close enough so that they were virtually family and I didn't even need to pay rent.

It had felt like the first time I'd ever had a family who loved me unconditionally, no matter what I did or was. Now I was being taken away from them and killed. It must have been hard for them, too, in retrospect – they'd never been able to have children.

"Stay strong, Tamal," Mr. Carr placed a hand on my shoulder. His own façade of strength was failing, he knew just as well as I did that this was a death sentence. "You… You need to be able to stay strong."

"I will," I said weakly, not knowing if I truly could. "Alycia… Marin…"

"You don't have to call us that," Alycia said tearfully, gesturing for me to sit down. I started welling up again when I realised the best thing I could do right now was plan for my death.

"Mum, dad," I corrected myself, the first time I'd referred to them as my parents. It felt natural, but it was also excruciating. "Y-You'll be okay," I exhaled. "You never needed me to survive anyway, you did fine before me and… Y-You'll be okay," I sniffled, wiping some of the mess on my face with my sleeve. "Just please make sure Graham is okay," Graham was my boyfriend of over two years. We'd become inseparable. "I don't know how he's going to cope… I want him to move on… I want him to…"

I couldn't take the pain of acknowledging a world without me in it and burst into tears again. Both of my parents held me close and rocked me slightly in an attempt to calm me down. It was calming, but did nothing to relieve my anguish. We stayed in silence, all of us crying and hurting together until a Peacekeeper kindly reminded them they had to go to make room for the next visitor.

Graham came in alone. He smiled at me, but I could tell from his expression that he'd also cried. He said nothing, sat down and admired the walls and floors of the building. District Seven's best wood had been put into constructing our Justice Building, one of the few buildings in the District that seemed to have been constructed to a Capitolian standard.

Graham held my hand and squeezed it. There was silence for another minute, and I considered talking as it would be our last interaction. But what was there to say?

Graham found the words:

"You can do it, you know?" He noticed me raise an eyebrow. "You can win."

"Don't say that," I moved my hand away from his. "It's not fair to place these unrealistic expectations on me – I… I… I'm just a regular guy from District Seven. Not even regular, I can't work an axe and have never laboured in my life, I worked in the paper mills. I'm no warrior, or survivalist, or-"

Graham calmly interrupted. "We used to climb trees together, all through our childhood, all day. You became one hell of a climber," he smiled a little. "A-And you're the best painter I've ever met. You could make your paintings look like they were real – maybe you could camouflage…" I shook my head, forcing tears out of my eyes. "And you're smart, Tamal. You're not dumb…"

"You're just saying that because you want me to come home," I sobbed. "This isn't a fairytale book, Graham. Being a little bit smart, or being a good painter, or being able to climb isn't going to save my life…" Graham started tearing up and I cupped his face. "I'm asking _you_ to be the strong one, please. I won't be able to beat Careers or other psychopaths b-but I'm asking you to move on. You can do that," he shook his head and I said more firmly. " _You can_."

"Please don't tell me that means you're not going to try?"

I stared into his eyes, shocked. "O-Of course I'll try, Graham."

This time he surprised me, pulling me into the most passionate kiss we'd had. All of our previous kisses had been chaste, or brief, or tentative. This one was full of passion, a last and very tragic declaration of love. I tried to remember how his lips felt on mine, how he tasted, one last time before he pulled away.

I wasn't sure if his time was up or whether the Peacekeepers outside heard the kiss, or knew of it, and were disgusted. They opened the door, peered in, and firmly told Graham he had to leave. I squeezed his hand one last time and he resignedly made his way out of the room, giving me a longing look as the doors closed slowly behind him.

By that point I curled up into my chair and continued crying. Was I wrong to promise Graham I'd try to win? Was trying even possible when there were Careers and other tough tributes out there? My District partner, who was taller and stronger than I was, was a volunteer. She seemed confident when she made her way onto the stage, the first volunteer Seven had since a boy three years or so ago volunteered and died for his brother.

She was undoubtedly tough, no-one weak would willingly and trivially put themselves into a death match. And she was more charismatic than I was; she chirpily told the escort her name was Percy and seemed to get off from any applause or attention she received. I was shy.

I was so shy I wasn't even expecting anymore guests. Graham was the only person I could really talk to outside my family, and my old family… Well, they were out of the picture. So I was shocked when three people made their way into the Justice Building last minute: my Uncle, Akil, who had always been one of the more lenient and nice adults in the family. Accompanying him was his daughter, Varsha, and somebody I thought I'd never see again.

"Jarul," I immediately burst into tears of joy and rushed over to her, gripping her and holding her tight. She was also crying. I looked into her eyes as I pulled away, trying not to drown in my own tears. "Dear Panem, you look so different. You've grown and…" She was still only six. Still only so young. But she was only four the last time I'd even seen her.

"Tamal," Varsha hugged me as I stood up. Barely taller than her, I was almost knocked back. My Uncle stood by and watched solemnly. "I-I'm so sorry…"

"It's okay," I said, clutching my younger sister's hand and sitting down. I looked at my Uncle and Varsha. "I'm assuming my parents weren't coming?"

They were too nervous to immediately respond. "They knew the moment you'd see them you'd call the Peacekeepers and get them kicked out," my Uncle said. He was usually so immature. I saw him as the fun Uncle when I was younger, but now he was serious and almost business-like. I noticed that all my family members were wearing their best garments: the women in their pretty Saris, my Uncle in a grand Sherwani. I missed my own culture, even if I had felt so abandoned by it.

"That's presumptuous."

"I'd do it, if it happened to me," Varsha said firmly to her father. She had always been outspoken about how my family had treated me. "It's okay to be angry, Tamal-"

"Varsha, this is not for you to dis-"

"It's true, our family treated Tamal horribly," she snapped at him, looking emotional. "But we came here because they know that. They beg for all the forgiveness in your heart – we miss you Tamal…"

"Are they only saying this because they know I'm going to die?" I said. Sensing the tension, my sister threw herself into my chest. "I had to go through so much because of them – if it weren't for the Carrs I'd have died already, of cold, of malnutrition… We've all seen it before and they _threw_ me into that—"

"Tamal," my Uncle snapped as I tried to hold back more tears. Being reaped was bad enough, but then I had to deal with everything else in my personal life. "They want forgiveness. We all make mistakes – please…"

"If I survive, would they take me back? Or would their guilt fix over and they will think of me as an abomination again?"

"They'd want you to come home, Tamal…"

"That's not going to happen and they know it," I said, suddenly feeling like there was a sinister plot. I felt mean for almost forcing myself out of Jarul's grip and acting so furious towards them, as they were my only allies in the Arbor clan. But my parents had used them as chesspieces to win back my affection for some reason or another. Jarul released a devastated scream, held back my Uncle as she tried to run back into my arms. "G-Get out," I stood up and pointed at the door. "Get out now."

"Tamal…"

" _Get out_ ," I interrupted Varsha so loudly my throat almost imploded. "Or I will get the Peacekeepers and they won't be nice."

Speaking of the devil, two men with the noticeable visors opened the door and peered in to see what the cause of the ruckus was. My finger was still aimed towards them, trembling with rage as I watched my family make their way out into the corridor. I would probably never see them again. Maybe I should have resolved all of the problems we had, but when someone almost ruined your life it couldn't be easily forgiven. Maybe I should have tried, but…

I collapsed back into the chair, crying more than I had when I had been reaped. I cried so much that my hands were soaked in a matter of seconds, the water spilling onto my tatty trousers as I felt myself sink into more despair.

Screw it. Just screw it.

* * *

 **Tesni Rosette, District 9, 18**

I continued to sob long after I had been reaped. My kind-faced District Partner and I were both marched to the Justice Building, where we'd say our final goodbyes, and that was that. I tried to keep myself stable as I continued to tremble and cry, doors being slammed behind me.

I remembered the days where I wished upon a star that I could escape from my home. But I didn't expect it to come true like _this_. I wanted to run away to another home, not to an arena where everything was designed to kill me. It was like our escort had plucked me from the frying pan and decided to throw me into the fire instead.

After finding the strength to keep my breathing under control, I tremulously made my way to the comfortable leather chair and relaxed. A minute of silence followed, and I stopped crying, though my false bravery would often collapse and I'd cry again. At least I'd only have to see mother one more time. Even then, thinking about that hurt. I didn't like my mother, but I certainly still loved her.

When the doors opened, my family were swept in by the Peacekeepers: my teary father, my shocked older brothers and my mother. My mother usually looked bitter, but for once she seemed totally ashen faced. When my father and siblings made their way in front of me, sitting, my mother lingered at the doorway like she couldn't bear to be anywhere close by.

"I…" Lost for words was an understatement. I babbled for another thirty seconds before bursting into tears. "I don't know what to do."

My father clasped onto my hand, shaking. The Hunger Games had taken family members before: my father's brother lost his daughter to them almost a decade ago. It was part of a chain reaction that made my mother the cold and cruel person I knew. When my cousin died, my Uncle dropped out of the business and things became financially difficult for us. We eventually held onto our wealth, but my fathers' emotional distance made my mother an extremely angry and unpleasant woman. It was strange to think that the Games had made my life miserable all these years and now they were probably going to kill me.

"Just stay strong," my father choked on his tears.

I threw myself into my brothers' arms. I wasn't particularly close to them; they were older than I was, and moved out and worked before I could ever truly connect with them, but I just wanted someone to hold. Feeling both of their bodies close to mine reminded me of things that could've been. Maybe if I ever got to move out myself I could've had more of a relationship with them. I would never know.

"There's no point," my mother said, looking at me like she was looking at a corpse. Her voice still had an edge of cruelty to it, but I could see from her face that she was emotional… That a part of her probably cared. She kept some composure and started pacing. "You weren't raised to be a fighter, Tesni. You don't know a flower from a herb. You don't know how to use a knife. I-I think the best thing to do is to just… When the time comes, step off your plate and make it quick."

I felt like I'd been slapped in the face. My mother's words made my father fall down a deeper pit of despair, and he sobbed passionately into my dress. My older brother, Gavin, was the one to react. He turned around and glared at my mother.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He said. "We encourage her to fight, to try her best. Not to pave her way for some sick fuck Career to win or something."

"You don't understand…"

"She's your daughter! You're supposed to encourage her to do _anything_ to go home-"

"Sit down and shut up, Gavin. I'm your mother and you will do as I say," she snapped so hard and began to cry. My brother did as he was told and I was stunned in silence: since my mother had become cruel I'd never seen her take it out on my brothers – I was her verbal punching bag. I felt like I was experiencing a new side to her; the bitterness was still there, and I wouldn't expect anything less, but it felt like she cared in her own strange way. It was like all my dreams were coming true in the worst circumstances possible. "If she listened to you for strategy, she'd already be a goner because you certainly don't have a braincell."

Nobody challenged her. I stroked through my father's hair instinctively. I'd never truly bonded with my father either; he was always working. But I would miss him terribly. His authority was the only thing that stopped my mother from acting in crueller ways than she already did; she'd made a desire to hit me salient quite often, but never did it because she knew that was something my father wouldn't accept. But my father never did understand that words hurt just as bad in their own way.

"W-We can think of something, right?" My other brother, Raymond, said timidly. He avoided eye contact with my mother.

"I told Tesni what she is supposed to do," my mother froze and turned her back towards me. "But she's beyond my control now. She never did as she was told, I don't expect her to this time."

"I-I want to live," I said, my voice merely a whisper. That was the way my mother had always told me to talk.

"I want you to live, too," my mother's voice began to crack. When she turned to me, her face was red and blotchy and snot and tears streaked her face. "Do you think I don't love you? You're my only daughter, and we've never seen eye-to-eye," understatement of the century. "B-But that doesn't change the fact that I _love_ you Tesni." I cracked too and futilely tried to clean my eyes of the fresh wave of tears. "And I have to be honest, there's just no chance you're getting out of that arena. You can make it quick and painless. When our family saw Alicia die on screen, tortured and butchered…" I felt my father twitch as I stroked his hair "It broke us. It almost destroyed our business and it almost destroyed our family."

I felt the bravest I'd ever been. I had nothing to lose.

"It did destroy our family," I asserted.

My mother's features faltered for a little bit, and I think both of my brothers' gave me worried glances like the Hunger Games were now the least of my worries. Surprisingly, she kept calm.

"I love you, Tesni," she shook her head. "I know you'll never believe that. Everything I did was for the best – I wanted you to get married, find a good husband, live a good life, I _tried_ with you," I looked away from her and shook as I held back tears. I heard her storm towards the doorway: "I suppose it didn't matter that you never listened. It wasn't meant to be regardless."

She slammed the doors behind her. Knowing I only had a minute or so left with the rest of my family, I held them close for one more minute.

"I never got to talk much to either of you," I said to my brothers, trying to speak through the tears. "I-I always thought so highly of you both, and I hope you both have the best lives." I moved away so I could look my father in the eyes. "And please... please, father, please don't let this destroy you… I know it destroyed Uncle Dale and-"

The Peacekeepers opened the doors, and gave us all a look that told us everything we needed to know. My brothers walked out obediently, but my father continued to cling on for me for dear life. It broke me inside to watch the Peacekeepers storm in and drag him away; no matter how much he kicked and screamed for me, it was futile. The doors closed him out forever. I curled into a ball and continued to cry, only peering up from above my knees when the doors opened. Noah was standing there. I hoped he would visit me.

I stood up and tried to run despite my dress pooling around me. I held close to him – this time I didn't cry, I just felt safe to be around some sanity.

Noah had always been that to me: my best friend and my sanity. After my mother had turned against me, I changed from someone who was confident and loud to a hermit. All my friends faded away, but Noah adamantly stayed by my side. We'd always been friends, and I could actually be myself around him. I'd even planned to run away and live with him.

"Noah, you asshat," I shook as he cradled my head into his chest. We'd never gotten to speak much in the past year, because whenever we didn't have school I was locked away at home and he had to work for hours just to provide for his family. "I was scared you wouldn't visit me."

"You know I'd always visit you, you're my best friend," his voice sounded so strong despite the fact his eyes were leaking. He pulled away slightly and scanned my face. "Has the wicked witch been here?"

"They all have," I sighed. I didn't like it when Noah called my mother a wicked witch, even if I felt she was one. I also didn't want to think about my family visiting – it was so painful to look at the people I'd lose. I didn't even want to lose my mother, as masochistic as that seemed. "It went disastrously, as you'd expect."

"What did they say?" He said. I gestured for him to follow me before making my way to my seat. Somehow, I'd stopped crying and I felt a little more calm.

"They were just devastated, as you'd expect," I bit my bottom lip slightly. "Mother told me to… Make it quick."

Noah looked shocked. I felt like everybody was taking my mother's suggestion more personally than I was; I didn't plan to kill myself, but I definitely understood why someone else in my position would. Maybe it would be easier if I did…

"You don-"

"No," I said firmly. "I can't do that."

"Good," Noah said quietly. "I don't want this to be the last time we ever talk…"

"That's why this whole process exist," I said, gesturing around the magnificent rooms. "I-I mean, this is all one big goodbye because my chances of winning…" The chances of surviving the Hunger Games were always slim. One in twenty-four. But now District Thirteen were taking part, they'd gotten that bit slimmer.

"I'll miss you so much," Noah broke and pulled me into another hug, as if he knew that death was right in front of me. I was so sick of crying.

"I'll miss you too," I told him.

"Did your family give you a token?"

"Yes," I nodded, looking down at a ring my father had given me, rested on my finger. I'd had it before the reaping, I always had a feeling I'd take it to the grave. "Otherwise I'd ask for you to give me something I can remember."

"I'll never forget you," he pulled away and wiped his eyes briefly. As if he could no longer stand the pain, he stood up and walked away before he was even called away. I watched Noah leave longingly, and when he closed the doors I heard him cry outside much more loudly. I bit into my palm to keep quiet… I hoped to god this was the second worst part of being reaped after the whole dying thing; I didn't think I could stand the pain much longer.

* * *

 **Florian Flax, District 11, 14**

Everything wilted and died eventually.

But despite all my paranoia I didn't think it would happen to me at such a young age… Age fourteen. Whenever I thought I had a brain tumour or a severe blood disease, I usually reassured myself with my own vitality and youth. But youth wasn't going to help me when it came to the Hunger Games… If anything, it was a hindrance. I may have only been four years younger than the eighteen year olds, but unlike me they'd probably finished puberty. They had muscles and strength beyond what I could hope for.

I mean, maybe there was a chance I could survive. But I wasn't counting on one in twenty-six. When my brother had been diagnosed with cancer, our doctor had told us there was only a thirty percent chance he'd survive… Chances way higher than mine.

He died.

Numbness gripped me as I sat in the chair, a few visitors coming in to tearfully wish me goodbye. I didn't understand why I wasn't crying – I'd cried when I was reaped, but since then shock and apathy had taken over. It was like I'd returned to my default setting. I should have been used to this, really. Of all the people that would be reaped, it was inevitably going to be me.

I was beginning to think there was someone up there targeting me, as self-pitying as that sounded.

One of my schoolmates, Joen, probably felt dejected when I only responded with brief sentences and flinched when she tried to initiate physical contact. After she left, I waited for my parents to arrive. As expected, they did, but when I saw my dad come in without my mother I couldn't help but roll my eyes. I'd have thought that in this moment they could've put their emotional baggage aside, but I guess I wasn't worth it.

"Hey, has your mum arrived?" My father asked at the doorway, hesitant.

"No."

"Son," my father rushed towards me, holding me close. He had always been the nicer parent, and I actually tried to cling onto him, wishing he could just take me away from here, but it was hard to hold him because he was shaking. "H-How are you?"

"I'm okay," I lied, somehow composed. I tried to joke, but it fell flat: "I-I told you I was sick. I was going to die anyway."

My father's features became sombre, though he quickly made himself give a mechanical smile. I knew that my brother's death had affected my dad. While he was still a warm man, that warmth was so much more distant. The changes to my parents' personalities had eventually led to the collapse of my their marriage, and while I was still lucky to even have two parents it hurt that they had separated. They virtually hated each other.

Life was hard for me from then on. Like a parallel of my own parents, I grew distant. Coping with the loss of my twin brother and my parents' divorce, coupled with the conviction I held that like my brother I would one day succumb to disease, I grew cold inside. It was better if you were numb because you couldn't feel the pain. It allowed you to continue with your life: I still spoke to my friends, and I still tried to maintain a close relationship with both of my parents (occasionally visiting my fathers' run down apartment on weekends). But in my free time I could just sit and reflect on how life was just a mechanical process that just ends.

My mother often tried to plant colourful flowers on our windowsill, because she believed it would liven the place up. Our house needed it after all we'd been through. But District Eleven didn't have much fertile soil outside the orchards, and the scorching heat meant any fauna was quick to wither. It was only a matter of time and I was next.

And despite understanding the inevitability, I was terrified. I couldn't hide the pain. No matter what shallow reassurances my father had, I cried and I knew he felt just as bad about the whole ordeal. As soon as my mother arrived he was quick to flee, and I wished they could have put their differences aside just once – just for me.

My mother stood at the doorway, not saying a word until my father passed her. Her red eyes made it clear she had been trying, and she was still shaking as if she'd already seen me die. She made her way close to me, occasionally trying to rub her eyes and hide any semblance of emotion.

"Flori," she said almost breathlessly, calling me by a childhood nickname that had always stuck. She didn't even mention my father. "D-Did anyone visit?"

I skipped the obvious answer. "A few friends from school," I said emptily, finding it hard to believe that I was engaging in small talk right before I was about to be sent off to the Capitol.

"I…" My mother sat down and looked me in the eyes, lost for words. She'd already lost a child before and the pain was unbearable for her. What was she going to do now I was dead? I felt almost guilty, as if I had volunteered for the ordeal. If I had to fight to survive, battle the inevitability of death, it would be with her in mind. "I love you."

She finally broke, trying to cover her face as she continuously wiped the corner of her eyes and disguised sniffles as sobs. I instinctively pulled her into an embrace, allowing her to break. I'd never seen her cry like this since my brother's funeral three years ago. In District Eleven, very few people got an easy ride, but it was almost impossible to desensitise yourself from pain and loss… Especially when your children were involved.

"Dorian will be there… T-To look after me," my voice felt strained with the burden of emotion. My mother looked up to me, shocked that I would bring them into this – or maybe she was shocked that I didn't do something generic like promise her I would come home. While I couldn't bear the thought of dying and leaving my mother to pick up the pieces, I couldn't inflict the agony of false hope onto her too. I knew how much that hurt. When my brother first got leukaemia, our doctor told us he'd be fine. It was a lie, and it made the loss all the more painful.

"I'll always be there to look after you," my mother said quietly. She cupped my face with her wet hands, using her thumb to brush away stray tears. "I'll be thinking about you every second of my life, no matter what happens. You and Dori."

Dorian hated it when she called him that, which made me smile; it was authentic, but pained.

My mother reached into her dirt stained dress from the collar, removing a heart shaped locket and tearing it from her neck. I said nothing as I saw the aged gold, which had almost faded into a mint green. I remembered when my mother had bought that same locket so many years ago, when I was just a kid. I thought she got rid of it after the divorce.

"Promise me you'll think of us all too?" My mother smiled.

Using my small fingers to push the locket open, I looked at the picture inside. It was an old family photo – my parents were much more naïve and in love, holding each other close and laughing at something. Dorian and I were sat at their feet; our eyes alight with mischievous grins. I wished we got to experience more moments like this.

While flowers often withered and died, it was nice to see them bloom too, no matter how brief it was.

"Every second," I said, clenching it in my palm and promising not to forget any of them.

A Peacekeeper opened the door and peered in, as if she knew she was interrupting an intimate moment.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but the tribute is to leave for the station now," she said firmly. My mother didn't need to be coerced out by force; she gave me a quick hug and stood up. I was proud that she wasn't screaming or sobbing like she was moments ago – I hoped she could keep that strong in the moments afterwards.

"I love you," I said. I hadn't uttered those three words for a long, long time.

"I love you too," my mother smiled, the waterworks starting again. As if she knew she would descend to tears, she turned around to try and conceal them. She walked out hurriedly and though the doors closed behind her I heard her sob for a while outside, accompanied by a more gentle voice. I think that was the Peacekeeper reassuring her – at least, that's what I hoped it was.

Then silence came, as if the whole world had died around me. I listened to the clock tick, waiting for my escort to come. As the next few minutes passed I just stared at the picture inside my mother's locket, revelling in the few precious moments life had to offer before I had to spend my last weeks in hell. The Capitol was probably a glamorous looking hell; a hell that smelled of perfume and glittered with jewels, but that didn't disguise the reality.

"You're Florian, right?" A well-spoken voice said from the doorway. I looked at the escort who stood in the doorway, Magellan LaMonte. She was as popular as an escort could be in District Eleven, mostly because a lot of the guys thought she was hot. Personally, I didn't see it: the dark smudge that clung to her skin looked like she was artificially trying to replicate the dark skin many people in District Eleven had. Everything about her seemed fake.

"Flori," I said, embracing my mother's pet name for the first time. I stood up and smiled weakly. "You can call me Flori, if it makes it easier."

"Cute name," she said, though she looked disinterested. "So, it's going to be one hell of a ride…"

I just nodded. I guessed there was no other way to put it.

On second thought, there was, but such phrases couldn't be dressed up so positively.

"Well, it's time to pick up your District partner," Magellan opened the door and gestured that I leave. Realising every step was one closer to death, I couldn't help but tremble and struggle to keep myself upright. "I'm sure you're acquainted with the process but I'll quickly remind you – we go to the train where you watch the reapings and speak with your mentor, then you are styled and the chariot rides will be your first opportunity to impress sponsors," I entered the royal purple corridor of the Justice Building and allowed Magellan to guide me. "And then there's three days of training, where you can prepare for the Games. You can then relay to the Gamemakers everything you've learned for a score, then you are interviewed to show your authentic self to the Capitol," I was already struggling to keep up with this whole process. It seemed like I was fighting before the Games even begun. "All very easy, it'll be a breeze. Then the Gamemakers will have another surprise for you all before the Games begin, it will probably be a party of sorts but we have no idea yet – that will also be broadcast live."

"I've never been to a party," I said timidly.

"Well, you need to act like you've been to all the parties in the world," Magellan told me as we stopped outside the large wooden doors where my District partner, an older girl called Rye, was. She grabbed the doorhandle. "Remember, etiquette and posture are just as sharp weapons in the longrun-"

This was going to be a _lot_ more difficult than I initially calculated, and I wasn't an optimistic person.

* * *

 **That was my first April fool's joke ever! I hope it fooled at least one person, haha.**

 **Tribute list is up! I want to remind everyone who didn't get in that I still loved their characters, there were just so many submissions and a lot of competition. I hope you all understand, and stick around to read.**

 **Anyway – once again, thanks for the reviews, they make me all smile. I think it's a good time to remind you guys that characters from this fic all feature in chapter 63 of 'Crush or be Crushed.' It might be useful to read that, or you can read the story as a whole if you want. But you don't have to; the stories are meant to be standalones as well as arching into a wider plot :)**

 **Also, it's early days to truly seal a judgment on a tribute after 1 POV but I'm enjoying your rankings, it's also interesting how everyone is coming up with unique ranking/rating systems of their own!**

 ** _~Toxic_**


	5. Stories Have Endless Possibilities

**Just saying that any prejudice shared by the characters aren't shared by me.**

* * *

 **Epsilon Flint, District 13, 17**

I had always joked about District Thirteen being a hellhole. We were a fringe state that had existed in secret for hundreds of years, and though we had become a powerful District – our resources and population rivalling the Capitol – all of that had been put towards one ideological goal: destroying Panem and giving the previous Districts their own autonomy, the autonomy we had. That was the only way District Thirteen could be secure.

But war was Thirteen's downfall, and now we were a part of the Panem we hated.

I didn't even know what the Hunger Games were until three months ago, when we had to watch the ordeal on television to comprehend just what our children were getting into. Reaping Day was a mess, confusion erupted through the streets, and the moment my name was called there were riots. I watched and sobbed as people formed a ring around a stage to stop me from being taken.

They were all gunned down and my District Partner and I were covered in their blood. I had never expected there to be so much chaos and misery, even when we were carted away from the Justice Building after saying our goodbyes I could hear chants of revolution and the screech of bullets. I watched from the moving carriage as people tried to rescue us from the the Capitol, all ultimately arrested or killed.

It was the worst thing I'd seen, minus the takeover. My District partner was silently traumatised, but I cried and cried. The brutality was oddly beautiful: we weren't subordinate or puppets like the other Districts. The Capitol may have invaded but the spirit of defiance was in all of us. We were one beating heart and voice, and the loss of one child in the District felt like the pain of losing every child in the District.

"Onto here," our escort said, slipping us into a fancy looking train. The doors were shut behind us and I doubted there was any going back. "Now, all you can do here is relax and enjoy!"

"Relax and enjoy?" I said to he or she (for the escort's gender wasn't discernable). "I-I don't get it. Aren't we supposed to fight to the death or something?"

The escort looked at us both, smiling. I didn't like it.

"You're both new to this, right?" They said, leading us down one of the carriages. We must have passed about fifty rooms by this point. "It's not just a fight to the death. It used to be, hundreds of years ago," this had been going on hundreds of years… With no viable opposition or voice to demand the bloodsport's end? "But we enjoy styling you, interviewing you, watching you have fun. People don't care about people dying unless they care for them." We finally entered a room with couches that surrounded a perimeter and a large television on the wall, a room filled with wealth I never imagined. We were told the Capitol was gluttonous, but I didn't think it'd be like this. "So we will pamper you. It's our way of saying thank you for fighting for us."

After glancing outside the window, seeing the large stone walls of Thirteen's citadel grow into a mere dot in the distance, I rubbed spare tears from my eyes. I was still shocked, upset and really confused. I didn't understand why this fight to the death was occurring, but it seemed so weird that in the process we'd be subjected to trays full of cakes and chocolates, or be allowed to rest on sofas that looked fit for royalty.

My District partner – Nate – seemed obedient. If there was anyone I distrusted more than our escort, it was him. I was dragged onto the stage kicking, fighting and screaming. Nate called out his own name, volunteering for the ordeal. I didn't get why anyone would do that. I could only think of two things, neither good: either he had no moral qualms with the Capitol's disgusting antics, or he was a Capitol supporter.

They existed silently. Many in Thirteen had always criticised Thirteen's Great Generals or Great Commanders, but to do so would end in punishment. Some of them were Capitol supporters, some of them thought the Capitol was an even worse alternative. Both were dangerous to the stability of Thirteen.

"So we just relax?" I said. "C-Can I change my clothes, or shower?"

I felt like I was disrespecting my beloved District, using the Capitol's facilities so happily, listening to what I had been told. I'd had a shitty day to put it lightly, so I didn't want to put what little emotional energy I had to being defiant.

"Until seven, then we have to come back into this room – the main room – and we watch a recap. We also have a specialised survival expert who may be able to offer you vital information to survive."

"I thought we talked to someone who'd won this thing?" Nate said frustratedly.

I didn't expect the response: our escort didn't look like a tough guy (or girl), with their glittery make-up and effeminate ways, but Nate was suddenly pinned to the train's golden walls by his throat. I screamed, terrified that I'd watch another person be killed right in front of me as the escort looked Nate clear in the eyes.

"You don't get it, do you? The Games may be a game for the other Districts, a mere tradition as time has passed, but…" Their word hung in the air. "For you this is punishment for daring defy the Capitol. We're not going to be as sweet."

Nate was suffocating. I grabbed the escort's arm, trying to tear it from his neck, but I wasn't strong enough.

"We were only defending ourselves!" I said, sobbing as I was shoved away.

"We made an agreement you could be left in secrecy and independence if you kept yourselves to yourselves, but you tried to build nuclear weapons and strike us, you funded rebels within our very borders, you were the real aggressors," the escort snarled, turning to me. Nate was beginning to turn blue and I realised he very well could die. "Don't fall for your old Commander's propaganda."

"Just let him go," I cupped my mouth and watched in terror. "Please!"

On command, Nate was released. He fell to the floor, choking on air as his confused eyes faded back into consciousness. The escort looked at their pink fingernails and then strode over to me, looking me in the eyes and terrifying me to my core.

"You think you're the good guys? It's funny coming from a government that was more extreme than the Capitol, killing dissenters, trying to create a single unit that only had no purpose and no soul," a shaky laugh followed. "That's cute. You're about to see the real world, a world with true wealth, power and morality."

I couldn't think the Capitol are truly moral when they surrounded themselves with so much waste, when they dressed their men up as women or women as men, and thought they were normal or sane.

"Well, a little fact about me: I trained soldiers and Peacekeepers," the escort smirked. "If you comply, I can toughen you up for victory. If you don't, I'll very happily send either of you to the medical carriage on this very train. At seven PM, you choose. Ta-ta."

I watched the escort sashay out, sliding the carriage door's behind. I shook with tears again. I didn't tell them that I _was_ a soldier – fighting in the military was compulsory, and my father was once a Thirteen general. But I still wasn't prepared for anything I'd seen today. I glanced at Nate, noting that he was thankfully okay, and bit around my nails nervously, listening to the sound of the train zooming through the arctic wasteland that separated District Thirteen from the rest of Panem.

"Are you okay?" I finally said to Nate. I distrusted him, but he was still a Thirteener; him and I were of the same mould.

He stood up, rubbing his neck, which was heavily bruised.

"Yeah."

"Lets sit down," I led him to the vast couches and sat him down. "You shouldn't defy him – or her –" I couldn't help but feel disgusted about everything about our new escort. Not just its violence, but its quirky and disgusting ways. "Please don't do something like that again. We've lost too many in Thirteen, we can't lose another."

I closed my eyes and tried not to cry, thinking of my father. Since the takeover, everyone's heart had been broken. The Capitol's sieged wiped out so many people as citizens and soldiers fought together to resist them. I'd lost no-one in the siege, although a member of the Capitolian military had attempted to violate me… The memories of our beautiful District of being conquered, of killing for the first time in my life, were almost unbearable. But the true loss came afterwards, when the purges came. The Capitol granted citizens amnesty if they became compliant, but many were still purged and many tried and failed to keep a resistance up, dying in the process.

"Did you lose people?" Nate asked.

I was shocked by the question. Somehow, it seemed personal.

"M-My father," the grief still hurt me to that very day, so it felt weird mentioning it in passing. I stooped my head down and cried, not just because of him, but because I could very well join him. "He was in the Black Book."

Nate understood; the Black Book was a name filled with important politicians, academics, military personnel, artists and intellectuals of Thirteen. If they weren't killed in the takeover, they were rounded up and wiped out in the first purges. My father was one of them. I heard my mother's screams in my head to this very day as he was dragged away into a black car and never seen again. She had repeated those same screams the moment I had been reaped.

"My family weren't important enough for the Black Book," he said. I knew from his grave expression that he'd still lost people – if you hadn't lost anyone during the seizing, you were the luckiest family alive. "You still had people to visit you in the House of Laws, right?"

"Yeah," I said tearfully. "I was worried I wasn't going to see them, at first they didn't let anybody in because they were worried there were rebellious interceptors." Nate's expression after I said that was intriguing. "I got to say goodbye for two minutes."

"As did I," Nate sighed. If he was so sad, why did he agree to participate? He definitely couldn't have been a Capitol sympathiser.

"Did you notice they were calling the House of Laws the _Justice Building_?" I said disgustedly. "T-They're overriding our culture. The place where our dozens of great leaders made Thirteen a nation that would rival the Capitol had been completely transformed, named after a mock sense of Justice where children were relayed before they would die."

"It's sad," Nate sighed. "All of it has been sad. The takeover, the purges, the black book, the new government, the e _con_ omy."

The way Nate stressed the con made it clear he was one of us, truly. It was a phrase only used by real Thirteeners; the Capitol had introduced something we'd never heard of – an _economy_. We now had to buy or rent property. We could now set up businesses. We could now could work for Capitol greed instead of governmental good. It was a strange concept.

Capitol appeasers often thrived, finding great wealth and indulgence where it shouldn't exist. Even loyal Thirteeners were enthralled by things we'd never heard of: cafes, shops, restaurants. Initially, Thirteen citizens were given a guaranteed amount of shelter, food, water, clothing and fuel each month. Important families like mine got as much if not less supplies as unimportant ones like Nate's. Now most of us had to fight to get the food we were once guaranteed. While many found new treasures, there was no security like there once was. The illusion was grandeur truly was a con.

"It's truly sad," I said, thinking of the things I had to do to make money this year alone. I once only had to go to school and compulsory military training – military training was temporarily suspended, but I had to go to a new Capitolian controlled school and work for greedy traitors in energy factories, restaurants and a store that sold something as trivial as jewellery.

Life was once so perfect. Now it wasn't worth living. If Thirteen continued, maybe it was better that I should die fighting the subordinate Districts that worshiped the Capitol.

"Anyway, I ought to see if I can wash or change clothes," I said, shakily standing and looking at my puffy face in the reflection of a crystal mirror. "Soar high, comrade."

"Soar high," Nate smiled at me weakly before I turned around and left.

* * *

 **Titan Bard, District 2, 18**

After fighting my way onto the stage and saying one final goodbye to my family, the first thing I did when I got on the train was visit the medical bay. I wasn't really that injured, but I had been punched a few times in the head and been left with a black eye and a puffy lip and wanted to ensure it couldn't lead to anything more serious. The technological marvels they had there had already fascinated me: after injecting me with something, all of my injuries had suddenly subsided. My face looked as good as new.

I was very proud of District Two, but I also couldn't deny the superiority of the Capitol. We didn't have anything that could heal a bruise or a clot almost instantaneously, and if we did putting so much money into it would be considered a waste of resources when waiting for it to subside naturally was a much cheaper cure. I imagined that despite their bloodlust, the Capitol were all cowards. When you lived a life of luxury with near guaranteed security, it was probably hard to be brave.

I made my way out of the medical bay, crossing through a few carriages until I saw my District partner lying on the floor and watching television. She had a remote control in one hand and a leg of chicken in the other.

She bit into it, watching some commentary on what we can expect these Hunger Games. I didn't quite know what to think about her. I knew most people in the academy, and tried to be friendly with most of them, and I didn't recall seeing her. The academy definitely wouldn't have let her go to the reapings and go on television with such tatty attire; I certainly wasn't rich, but they lent me a suit so that I looked presentable. But she had the kind of vibe a lot of Two Careers' had. She seemed tough. It made me wonder if she'd been trained some other kind of way.

I closed the door behind me, smiling sheepishly when she turned in my direction and then looked away as if she hadn't seen anyone interesting. I considered acting a little bit meaner than I already was. I was strong, tall and definitely ready to kill, but I didn't plan on being an asshole. But I was quick to realise that being an asshole and putting on an act was probably the best way to seize the attention of the public and the competition.

I felt a little corny as I straightened my spine, puffing my already large chest out. I sat on the couch and relaxed.

"So," I said with a forced air of arrogance. "I never saw you at the academy before."

The girl chewed on the tiny strips of flesh that clung to the chicken bone, eyeing me for a second.

"That's because I'm not from the mercenary machine, dumbass."

That hurt. I kept my temper in check.

"But you're a volunteer?"

"I'm assuming you're not blind and deaf. You saw the Reapings. Yes, I'm a volunteer."

"There's no need to be rude," the bite to my voice was a little more natural, because this girl had some attitude problem. "I'm just thinking that it would be stupid to volunteer if you didn't have _any_ training. Do you know how to build a campfire, or how to handle your basic set of weapons? You're not piggybacking on us just because you happen to be from Two. I'm happy to give my District partner leeway but there's a lot of weight to being a Career."

"I can fight," Pip said indifferently.

"Can you kill?" I paused. "Have you killed?"

For the first time, Pip looked me in the eyes as if she was assessing someone who was a genuine threat, as if she knew that I could be her killer. Somehow, the power I felt intimidated me. She stood up and switched the television off, moving to a couch opposite and slumping on it, her feet on the couch.

"Why, have you?"

"Yeah," I said earnestly, remembering the moment I drove a knife into a young thief's throat to prove I could. We often watched clips that were made to kill to desensitise us. While I'd say it made me more prepared, I wasn't going to pretend for a single day that it desensitised me – if anything, it hypersensitised me for the road ahead and I needed that. "In District Two it's protocol as part of the training scheme to kill a criminal.

Pip bit her lip slightly, nodding.

"Not everyone in the arena is a criminal," she said. "Maybe you can use some twisted sense of justice to make yourself kill a criminal. I've seen the real world," she shrugged and went to turn the television on.

"When did you last see a Career who didn't kill or tried to kill once?" I asked her. She faltered, as if trying to find an answer: it would be impossibly hard. There were some Careers who were certainly considered nice or even soft, but they weren't innocent. They had killed. "I'm not saying this to scare you. I want to survive, but the Games are a lot about honour. If Two got one tribute back, I could die happy. So I'm saying this to you sincerely, you need to be ready for what's ahead."

"I'm not trained formally," she told me, opening up slightly. "But I can fight. I've had to survive harsh conditions. I've had to go above and beyond," I wondered what in her life made her do that. People struggled in District Two, certainly, but they combatted that with labour, not often with violence. I had already had my suspicions that while Pip was no Career, she wasn't a fool. "I've taken guys your size before, you know."

"Really?" I smirked, challenging her even though I wasn't truly sceptical. I leaned back. "Maybe one day I'll see just what you've got."

"Hello!" Robinetro made his presence known as he flounced into the room. Trainers had often said we had to prepare for our old escort, Fi-Fi, as she was hard to handle. Robinetro seemed like he'd make the pre-Games process that little bit easier. "It's time for the recap, so it's our first glance at all the tributes you'll be interacting with, and a chance to see how your own reaping looked on television." He sat down next to Pip, smiling at her and ignoring her uncomfortable look. "I must say, the adrenaline of seeing myself on television after all these years is still so invigorating."

"Do you miss escorting District Eight?" I asked Robinetro as he turned on the television, the Panemian symbol filling the screen with the national anthem.

He looked at me and smiled weakly. "I made close friends with many of the tributes that came my way," he said. "But I'm excited to be mentoring a Career District, too. I'm sure we'll have a great time," he stood up and moved towards a tray of food. "Oh, and by the way, help yourself to the food. The lamb satay is to die for!"

I turned to the television, both Pip and I going silent when One's logo flashed on television and was replaced by a backdrop of marble and glitter. I was wondering if One would get a reaped tribute, like they did last year, but it seemed like the Career pack was back in action: a One girl stood on stage, and though she looked out of place she had the strength of a Career. Her District partner seemed much more refined and sure of himself, though, and his charisma was intriguing.

"Careers," I pointed out. Robinetro nodded. "Good. We need a strong alliance."

Time to see myself on television. I looked at the familiar town square, acknowledging that Pip made her way onto the stage based on tact more than fight. She exploited the Careers' tradition, slipping onto the stage silently before declaring her candidacy. I glanced at her, noting her attention transfixed on the cameras. I still thought she was going to die, but I realised underestimating her could be fatal. I barely had time to see my own reaping, where I beat two boys to near unconsciousness by gripping their heads and repeatedly forcing their skulls together.

I felt bad for them. I didn't really want to hurt anyone beyond the twenty-five other tributes I'd be up against, but I'm sure they had doctors to fix them up. They were probably the lucky ones.

I scratched my chin slightly, observing the Three reapings; the square on the screen grew noticeably more depressing and the children a little bit more deprived looking. The girl who was selected didn't seem quite so poor, though.

"She's expensively dressed," I remarked, gesturing for Robinetro to pause the television and looking at her as she tearfully made her way to the stage. I noted the necklace she was wearing, gesturing to it. "That has iron in it, good quality."

"How do you know that?" Pip asked.

"My father's a blacksmith," I told her with a weak smile. "My mother was one too." Was. I wish I hadn't mentioned her, and Pip seemed to pick up my reluctance because she didn't probe me any further – either that or she just didn't care. Robinetro played the clip again, and we watched as the girl ascended the stairs. As she did, she seemed to turn around as if she wanted to escape, but quickly collected herself and stoically stood there for all to see. Either decision she made would have bee brave, but she seemed to have been guided by her common sense.

"Who knows what her wealth means," I said. I could have crushed her trachea with one hand, but there was something to her.

"It means she's used to everybody getting down on their knees and licking her asshole," Pip grumbled, leading Robinetro to look at her in a visibly disgusted way. "The Hunger Games is the only place where the rich don't get it easy, because the Gamemakers aren't licking anyone's ass but the Careers. District Two struggles, but from its struggle it produces fighters."

"True," I paused. Unlike One or Four, our Careers didn't pay for their own training. "But money can buy you many things: skills, intelligence, training of its own kind."

Pip didn't respond, but we watched the Three boy get reaped and both seemed to agree there wasn't anything noteworthy about him. He was small, frail and scared – he was virtually dragged onto stage kicking and screaming. I couldn't help but feel that he'd leave the Hunger Games the same way he entered them.

I paid special interest in Four, because it could produce potential allies. Two volunteers in Four, as expected: one a guy who was noticeably hot, with muscles that weren't as big as mine but were definitely more toned for the aesthetic purpose. Eye candy couldn't hurt. The Four girl was also pretty, but she looked noticeably more self-assured and intelligent than the tall boy besides her.

"Allies," I said.

"Competitors," Pip followed, as if correcting me.

From then on, Pip's interest seemed to decrease, but I tried to keep watching with my full attention intact. Whilst there were no Careers, and Careers were significantly more likely to win, the people I'd be seeing were the people who would be outside my alliance and therefore my main enemies. Five's strong-jawed male was already on my radar: though he was pale, for whatever reason he wasn't too shaken by his Reaping. His District partner, a sobbing girl with pale skin and dark hair, was a little bit less noticeable.

"He's shady," I said, of the Five boy.

Robinetro nodded, his eyes on the plain Jane. "Do you think _she_ could be a threat?"

"She looks a bit more well fed and muscular than your average Five kid, but I'm doubtful," I said. "I guess we'll just have to see how she does in training." Appearances could be deceiving, and the pre-Games was entirely based on appearance and little else.

District Five's and District Six's streets were barely distinguishable; both urban and dirty, both full of impoverished kids. The Six boy was another person who I wouldn't bet on making the final eight, to put it lightly, though I admired how he kept his dignity. I supposed that's the best I could hope for him; a dignified end.

When the Six girl's name was called, I gasped.

"What? She looks like any other Six girl." Pip said, annoyed as no other than Roxanne Maxwell made her way onto the stage. I was used to seeing her better dressed than this, but it was definitely her; her freckled face looked similar to her tough father's.

"That's Roxanne Maxwell," Robinetro said, shocked. "I-I liked her book! Oh dear…"

I glared at him, and then at Pip.

"She's a fucking celebrity," I grew annoyed, seeing my own chances of victory diminishing slightly even though I doubted the girl was a warrior. The Capitol loved celebrity; it was something they could get behind. Even Robinetro, one of my main backers, seemed genuinely saddened that she'd been called out. No doubt she had a significant sponsorship already.

"What's she famous for?"

"Daughter of a victor," I sighed, standing up and making my way to the snack tray. I grabbed a biscuit but anger took hold of me and I crushed it in my hand, resisting the urge to destroy something much more expensive. My back was turned from the television as an ad break came on. "She wasn't relevant until she wrote some shitty book." I admittedly hadn't read it, but I'd heard of the plot, and Career girls often read it to laugh at factual inaccuracies and misinterpretation of the training system.

"Well, I did quite like the novel…" Robinetro paused. "Oh, that's quite curious…"

"What?" I snapped, turning to face Robinetro.

"Well, her novel is set during the two-hundredth and fifth Games…" Robinetro said, matter-of-fact. He turned to the television, his artificially coloured eyes widening in horror. "I don't quite know what that means, but it's just… It's a coincidence that the Gamemakers are going to exploit, for certain, especially if they have reason to target her…"

Pip rested her head in one hand, leaning on her elbow. She didn't seem as irked as I did. In fact, she looked like she'd seen opportunity.

"I think we have some background reading to do," she remarked.

* * *

 **Lillee Duraton, District 4, 18**

Looking in the mirror, I felt as if I could see the change on my face. I was once a girl with ideals; now I was a person with a mission that could possibly kill me. But it was something worth dying for. The odds of victory were so slim, but if I charged for it and won I could win the influence to completely overthrow the system and change Panem for the better without revolution. I'd be saving so many innocents.

But no matter how prepared I felt, I realised this wasn't going to be easy. Watching the recap and seeing the Maxwell girl get reaped had told me that there was competition; even if she was weak or dumb – and with her father I doubted she was either of those things – she was going to have popularity on her side. As the Hunger Games grew more and more from a punishment to a twisted media empire, I realised that popularity was vital.

Not that I _wanted_ her to die. She was an innocent, and hopefully she'd be one of the last innocents who'd die in the Hunger Games. I hoped somebody else did most of the killing for me, as it was something I definitely didn't want to do. But I would have to at some point.

But she had to die for the greater good.

I turned the hot water tap, enjoying it as it was a rarity in Four, and splashed it over my face to keep myself focused. After leaning on the sink and taking a few heavy breaths, but heard somebody speaking outside. I left the door open a crack, listening to my escort talk outside:

"The tabloids and Panem-net are already on it?" She said hesitantly. I wondered what either of those things were. "I… Well, they would put the ad break on the Six reapings, wouldn't they? No, no… Yes. I'm just a little nervous for what's to come, I think it's likely to be a tough year. I'm not holding much optimism for either of my tributes coming home."

My heart deflated a little. That meant she was _expecting_ me to die. Even though I was aware of the danger I was in, I was fighting to come home. I guessed winning meant more than changing the world for the better – it meant talking to friends that I'd made over the years, or discovering parts of District Four I'd never seen before, or even talking to my parents.

I was distant from them. My mother was loving, but ultimately strict and unforgiving, we'd never connected much over the years. My father held much more pride in my plans and training, but he himself was once a rebel, only leaving the organisation when he had started a family – he didn't want them to get caught up in the crossfire.

Maybe he wanted me to finish what he had started.

He was more extreme than I; he wanted an end to the Hunger Games. I once did, too, until I realised they were part of our culture that we could possibly never wash out. But it was still sick and immoral, and it wasn't immune to reform. If I won, I'd have more money and influence than anyone could ever imagine. If I made the right connections within the Capitol and made my case without opposing the Nystalgia's or their power…

The Hunger Games would only be the first battle. And in retrospect, possibly the easiest. I could throw a spear or build a fire much better than I could pull the strings of the political system. But nobody in the Districts could wield any power, unless they became rich or famous, which was highly unlikely.

"Porceina, I know you liked Roxanne's book," Portia's tone down the phone changed slightly. "Yes honey, I was waiting for the sequel too…"

I rolled my eyes. Some escort. I opened the door to the bathroom, the sound attracting Portia's attention. She gave me a smile and a wave, which I cordially responded to before making my way into the viewing room. Yveaux sat spread eagled on the couch, watching an over enthusiastic advert which told male Capitolians that their baldness was no longer a problem.

"Hey sugartits," Yveaux said to me. I wanted to be frosty, but I wasn't going to be completely rude. If I wanted to win, the Careers had to lose, which meant I had to kill them. Maybe one way I could do that was by worming my way into the alliance like a parasite, before exploiting and finishing them. It was brutal and even cruel, but considering they were perpetrators who were happy to kill for their own advantage, I found them so much easier to slaughter. In fact, maybe I'd be happy killing the particularly malicious ones, people like Pullox last year or Blaine the year before that.

And Yveaux would certainly be an easy kill too, he seemed too dumb to be truly sociopathic, but that didn't negate the fact he was the most annoying person I'd met in my life. To resume the illusion of content, I sat close to him but still kept some distance. He continuously made remarks about my breasts, I'd have hated him to touch them or something.

"You eat like a pig," I said when Yveaux seemed to somehow consume a whole bowl of popcorn in one go. He glared at me, and I moderated myself: "The Games are soon. I just think going for something a little bit more nutritious would be beneficial."

"Nutritious shit like rabbit food?" Yveaux took a slice of pizza in his hands and smirked. "My trainer has put me on a strict diet for the last year, I needed it to keep this bod," he patted his washboard abs with one hand before taking a large bite out of his food, continuing to speak when it was in his mouth: "It might be my last few days alive, I'm going to enjoy myself. Maybe keep fat reserves in my system just in case we go hungry."

He was a Career. He was very unlikely to go hungry, unlike so many tributes. I frowned.

"Good thinking," I said with a pinch of sarcasm in my voice.

"Want some? I enjoy sharing the love," he held a slice of pizza out.

"No, I'm a very controlled person."

"Really?"

"Really really."

"I thought you seemed uptight," he kicked his feet so they were on my legs and I resisted the urge to grab a knife that jutted out of a slice of cake and jam it into his kneecap. "I bet you don't do anything, right? No pizza, no drugs, no drink, no sex…" I blushed. "Like a robot, a girl who pretends to have no flaws and chooses work over fun every single time. Am I warm?"

He actually kind of was accurate. When you lived your life with strong ideals, grew close to those ideals and was prepared to die by those ideals you couldn't let your spirit waver once. I'd trained every second I wasn't in school or sleeping. I'd put so much effort and resources into this, I'd put up with moments of crippling doubt. There was no time to indulge or think of anything else.

"I put effort into training, I want to make it out alive," I said coolly. "Can you put your feet away from me, please?"

I was shocked that he complied, although I was still thinking about the satisfaction I'd receive when I'd finally slash his throat. He'd truly realise he'd made a mistake.

Yveaux didn't talk to me from then on, though I did catch him staring and noted that I would never wear anything that exposed cleavage near him ever again. I leaned forward when the ad break ended and the forests of District Seven were shown in a panorama shot. My reaping had gone well, as I had anticipated: I showed little emotion or vulnerability, gave little away, but made it clear I was competition. It was time to see how well everyone else did.

I couldn't help for feel for the boy: the Gamemakers had to physically drag the male away from a lighter skinned boy his own age who screamed and refused to let him go until he was hit in the back of the head with the butt of a gun. _That_ was the kind of thing I wanted to see end.

The Seven girl's reaping was definitely stranger. She seemed Career like, almost: she volunteered happily and made her way onto the stage with an enthusiastic smile. I heard her family crying, asking if there was a way she could redact her statement. But it was too late. The girl seemed to have second doubts after their reaction, too. I wondered what had possessed her to do that.

"There's so few hot tributes this year," Yveaux sighed. "Only you."

"Is that _all_ you care about?"

"No, I don't care that much," Yveaux said almost wistfully as he watched a sweeping view of factories' turrets shooting out their soot and dirt. District Eight. "Looks won't matter much when you have a knife slitting your throat."

A grim but accurate assessment.

Eight created two bloodbaths. Two more heartbreaks, and to think _I_ may be the one to kill them. The Eight girl was dragged onto stage kicking and screaming, and the Eight boy made a fool out of himself by tearing off his shirt and declaring himself the future victor. Yveaux laughed and clapped along, finding the whole thing very funny.

I wiped a lone tear of rage and heard the door behind us open.

"Portia, you have to see this," Yveaux reached for the remote. "The Eight boy made himself look like a complete retar-"

"No," I snatched the control before he could, putting it out of his reach. "We watch the rest of the reapings."

"It's okay lovely, I'll just watch the recap," Portia said before she wedged between us. I watched the Eight girl make her way to the stage, and though she certainly held herself better than a lot of tributes the tears that down her face like torrents. "Any highlights so far?"

"Seven girl was a volunteer," I said.

"Oh? A potential ally?"

Maybe for me. I realised that allies could be vital in the Games, but I needed strong ones who wouldn't be a liability. The Careers were evil, and I would only keep them around for as long as they were useful before I'd betray them. I needed more social connections; the Seven girl possibly, but she was a volunteer... which that meant she could probably work a knife. It'd be good if she had my back.

"No," I said bluntly. "Doubt she's a Career."

"Yeah, we have enough this year. She's competition, we'll just kill her at the Bloodbath," Yveaux agreed as we watched the Nine boy get called to the stage. He held himself together too, even managing to smile as if he were thinking of sponsors, but he ultimately descended into tears when a girl from the reaping pool collapsed to the floor. I stopped focusing him and watched her lying in the dirt, not able to be consoled by her many friends.

"I feel bad for her," I said honestly, not able to hide my disgust.

"It's pretty shitty," Yveaux said as he raked another scoop of popcorn. "That's why us Careers exist, we try to stop these things happening in our own Districts. If they cared for their own that much they'd do the same thing."

I glared at him from the side. Careers always came up with their excuses – including me – but my utilitarian argument was justified. He just tried to keep guilt or any morality at bay by absorbing all the propaganda the Academy threw at him. I'd attended the training centre too and was hyperaware of it: we were told that we were honouring our District and protecting its citizens. That had always been a common Career mantra, but the propaganda grew more Capitolian every year.

Sometimes we were even handed leaflets which showed purported studies about how kids from lower Districts were naturally inferior and that their deaths would mean nothing. Propaganda invented by the Capitol to suit a political agenda, according to my father. I wondered if Yveaux believed that.

"It's not so simple," I said, watching the Ten reapings: a bloodbath girl was reaped, followed by a boy who was much more competent looking but probably wasn't a victor. As expected, both of them weren't exactly happy with the whole ordeal.

The Eleven reapings were uneventful. I always thought it looked like one of the more difficult Districts to live in; everybody seemed soulless and upset, and the sun looked scorching, so much less pleasant than the warm glow that encapsulated District Four. I watched generic Bloodbath fodder make their way onto the stage, both visibly crying and both managing to hold themselves together. I admired their bravery, considering they were inevitably going to meet their end in the arena.

When we saw a District with a considerably smaller square and reaping pool, drab weather and a lot of dirt we immediately knew it was District Twelve. Though I wasn't a rebel, when I saw the citizens of Twelve I could sympathise with them. They all looked so hungry and demoralised – and the fact District Thirteen obliterated one of their most important towns made matters so much worse. I don't understand how anyone could just stand around and watch that kind of suffering.

You didn't think it could be anymore upsetting, but it did. The girl who got reaped evoked gasps of shock and disgust from Twelve's pool, and I immediately knew why when the familiar surname reached my ears. Diorite. Luke. Yikes.

"That's awful," I said, watching the girl on the stage. Somehow, she seemed less sad than Luke was. I watched the selected Twelve boy make his way onto the stage, less resolute, but he wasn't the star of the show – for now. "I can't believe they can let that happen… Two siblings, a single year after each other, has that kind of bad luck ever happened before?"

"Cashmere and Gloss," Yveaux said. He didn't get it, though. He didn't understand why volunteers were so much different from the reaped. To him, they were all participants and whether they were forced or not probably didn't matter.

… But _I_ was a volunteer. I was beginning to regret it, not because I was scared of my own life but because I was beginning to participate in the machine that I hated in order to deconstruct it. If victory didn't have such prestigious benefits it seemed like faulty logic,

I watched District Thirteen's reapings with interest, as did Yveaux. Not because we were waiting for Thirteen's tributes, our new competitors, but we wanted to see what the place was like. Only a couple of years ago it was a place of legend, now it was in front of us: it was surprisingly tidy, though as you'd expect it still showed cracks following a military takeover.

"Everything is made out of stone," I observed with some interest, looking at the large Justice Building you could see forming a backdrop to their large town square; it was so big. Almost as big as the President's Palace, and made completely out of rock and granite. "That's crazy."

We didn't get to see the reapings that followed. It merely showed two pictures: one of a boy and girl, around similar ages. The boy was fresh faced with dark, long hair. The girl was more distinct, with piercing grey eyes and auburn hair that looked like it could be purple in certain lightings.

"Due to technical difficulties, District Thirteen's Reaping was unable to be recorded or broadcast, we apologise for any in-"

"Woah, really? The Capitol had like sixty cameras, they all failed to work?" Yveaux seemed irritated and he turned to me. "Do you think there's something they didn't want to show us, like rebellion or some-"

"Stop it with that nonsense," I jumped and glanced at our escort, who was visibly distressed. Portia stood up and looked at us both defiantly. "You won't talk badly of the Capitol they feeds and clothes you, okay?" She hoped both of us would nod in the affirmative, seeming genuinely distressed, probably because she knew this very room was probably bugged. She wouldn't want to be punished if anything rebellious – intentionally or not – made its way onto national TV. "Okay?"

"Yeah," I said.

"Of course," Yveaux said more hesitantly.

"Good," Portia gave a bitter smile, but still seemed anxious. She turned around and rushed out of the room, as if we were radioactive and dangerous to be around for another second.

* * *

 **Kai Chiroshi, District 6, 15**

My father had always taught me that pity should only be reserved for others; the moment I began pitying myself was the moment I had accepted defeat and stopped trying to rise above my problems. He had a point: we were once poor and his constant work and dedication had allowed him to become a doctor and give us economic security. But I was probably in an even more difficult situation, one that would result in life or death. Despite the guilt that followed each tear, I wouldn't let myself feel bad for feeling devastated.

I shakily grabbed a decanter full of a strange Capitolian liquid, pouring it into a glass and downing another cup. It was purple, sweet and somehow fizzy, and allowing myself to binge – something I would have never been able to do in the Districts – helped me cope a little bit.

Since watching the Reaping recaps, I felt even more cynical about my survival prospects. My District partner was one of the most famous people in District Six, known in the Capitol _before_ her Reaping was televised. Then there were a bunch of other faces, including a strong looking set of Careers and a handful of District volunteers. The chips were definitely stacked against me…

I heard my District partner's shower running, and it soon stopped. I wiped my eyes, resting my face directly on the table when she opened the door and peered out. Her short hair was dripping wet.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't cry," she said to me, a grimace on her face. "These showers are pretty great and I'd enjoy them all the more if I didn't hear you weeping in the background."

"I am never seeing my family again," I said lowly, trying to keep my temper in check as I poured another cup of the strange substance. "I think I have a right to be upset."

"With that attitude, you won't be seeing them again," Roxanne rolled her eyes.

"I'd rather be weak than a bitch," I said to her, taking a miserable gulp of the liquid.

She put her hands on her hips, and I could tell by her expression that she wasn't a person who was used to being challenged. It almost reminded me of my brother, although he definitely wasn't as rude or apathetic as the tall girl in front of me. She strode out of the large bathroom, revealing a bathrobe made out of material that was probably worth more than my whole wardrobe.

"Do you know who you're talking to?"

I slammed my glass onto the table, shrugging. "I'm talking to some overhyped writer who only got her shitty books published in the first place because she had a daddy who happened to be both famous and dead," her expression betrayed any strength: she looked genuinely upset, but I didn't care. "But we're all equals now, Roxanne. You may be the one who has the press on your side but the Careers won't be any nicer to you just because people enjoy trash literature. In fact, they may come and resent you for it."

My voice trembled with rage even though my tone was kept low and I didn't dare dip into shouting. My temper got the worst of me quite often; Roxanne was lucky I wasn't punching or smashing something up, but if I hurt her or broke anything I would probably be punished.

"I…" Roxanne sat opposite me, taking a cookie from a china plate. She looked at it, but didn't eat it. "That was out of line."

"You were out of line first," I said, feeling a little childish. I also felt bad that I'd been so brutally honest towards Roxanne. I was as quick to forgive as I was to be angered.

"I'm sorry, I just get scared too, I was out of line."

I wondered if she was being sincere. Biting my bottom lip, I decided to play along with it. "We're all scared here."

She leaned forwards, her expression grave. "You don't seriously think my book was shitty, right?"

It was weird that I had insulted Roxanne's character and she hadn't flinched. While she must have been upset, and she openly admitted to being scared, she didn't even seem very affected by the Hunger Games. But the moment I insulted her book she seemed to be full of self-doubt. It was odd, and it gave me a lot more insight into the girl's character than anything else she'd done since she became famous. I avoided eye contact, biting my lip.

"You're great," I said to her. "I mean, your book was a real page-turner, I loved it," a lie: not that she was bad – but I hadn't touched her book. "I do think that if a poor kid was in your situation, with your talent and ideas, that kid wouldn't get rich or famous like you did. We're not all born with a platform. I just think it's important that you know that…"

"Thanks," Roxanne took a bite of the cookie finally, but placed the uneaten part back onto the plate. "Sometimes I need someone to bring me a few inches back down to earth."

"I think I shot you out of space," I smirked. I didn't mind talking, even if it had resulted from a near argument. Just moments where I talked to someone else – someone from my own District – had given me a brief second to forget what was happening to me. "You crashed and burned, rich girl."

"Rich girl?" She grabbed my hand and looked at a diamond ring that was placed on my finger. Considering how effeminate it was, I couldn't help but be embarrassed. "You're in no position to talk. I doubt you live in the Victor's Village, but someone who worked in a hovercraft factory isn't going to be able to afford rock like that."

"My dad is a doctor," I said, pulling my hand away and smiling awkwardly at her. "It's special to him, so he gave it to me."

"Did he buy it for himself?"

"For my mother."

"That's sweet," Roxanne said, leaning back and assessing my features a bit more. "Looks like an engagement ring."

"Yeah."

"Your mum must have liked it."

I wouldn't let my self-pity come back. I wasn't going to let myself cry. I bit my lips slightly and gave a shaky laugh, though it was clear that I didn't find the situation at all funny.

"She never got to see it," I told Roxanne. "When my mother died, my dad hadn't got his qualifications. She inspired my dad to become a doctor, actually," I barely knew my mother. Her death itself didn't upset me, just her absence. I took another swig of the Capitolian juice, Roxanne's silence almost prompting me to continue the conversation. "He's never gotten over her. My older brother and I always tried to get him to find another girlfriend, but he's still married to her in his head. He spent so many wasted credits getting the engagement ring he had promised to get but had never been able to afford."

Roxanne nodded. I think she was genuinely touched, but I couldn't help but feel like she was looking at me like I was a character divulging in some backstory or something.

"I'm sorry about your mum."

"I never really knew her," I sighed. Fuzzy memories that were probably false, my brother's own uncertain anecdotes, my father's long rants and her own parents had told me she was the nicest woman in the world. "You got to know your dad though. I'm sorry about him… And your mum."

"Thanks," she smiled. "It hurts, but you can be strong."

"I want to be strong," I sighed, suddenly being reminded of the Games again. I ran my hand through my jet black hair. "I really do. To get home for my dad, to look after my brother, but I'm not cut out for this. I'm no Career."

"I can help," Roxanne said. "I want to survive, but… I don't know. I have no-one. I have a close friend and an Avox who only sticks around because we've been forced together all these years," she stood up, tightening her bathing robe tightly. "You might not be strong but you don't worry about that yet. Follow me."

"Why?" I said hesitantly.

"Just follow," Roxanne said, moving down the carriage. I followed her down golden corridors until we finally reached the all too familiar television room, where I had watched my own disastrous recap. I probably looked weak and pathetic to the audience, with my painfully average build. The only think that could've possibly made me stand out was the fact I had made my older brother not volunteer, but what else was I supposed to do? He was the academic in the family, always with his nose buried in a book, with little idea of how grim the real world was. He had no chance of surviving the Games.

… That and the fact I was the disposable one. Jiro was the one who inherited my father's talent, the one who'd go into medicine. I was so bad at school that they had cut my hours, only not kicking me out completely so they could feed me state sponsored propaganda. From a young age, despite being the smaller and younger sibling, I knew my purpose was to protect him.

Roxanne fiddled with a remote, using some technological marvel to manipulate the television in front of me. Somehow, she could rewind, slow down and even freeze the video in front of me. I was a little perplexed, but also immediately distressed.

"I don't want to watch that shit again."

"Listen up," Roxanne said, pausing the screen so that we were looking at the One tributes. She turned around to face me, both taller and stronger than I was, so she did give off an element of physical intimidation. "Why do the Capitol have a Hunger Games?"

"To punish us," I said quietly. "For… For what our ancestors did."

"That was the original point," she said passionately, pacing slightly. If evil geniuses wrote books instead of planning world domination, I was scared I was in front of one. "But things change. The Hunger Games, despite being two-hundred years old, are certainly no exception. The Capitol don't view us in a friendly light but no longer are we people who are deserving of punishment. The Games are now just what they appear to be: entertainment. And how do you entertain people?"

"Boobs?" I said, gesturing to the low cut dress the One girl was wearing, though she definitely didn't look as busty or glamorous as you'd expect. Roxanne rolled her eyes.

"A story!" She said like the answer was obvious. "Once upon a time they didn't even spend a penny feeding us, giving us the country's best trains to ride, giving us expensive prep teams to make us look actually attractive, giving us manuals and weapons to train ourselves," she sighed. "Gone are the days where tributes regularly died in harsh arenas, of starvation, of thirst or something equally boring yet excruciating." She looked me in the eyes. "Gone are the days where Careers won nine out of ten Games, even."

"Yeah, they only win six or seven," I said awkwardly.

"But the Gamemakers know we like plot twists," Roxanne said. "So it's time we started to view the Games as a story. Right here, we have our characters," she waved her arms towards the television screen and pressed play. I watched the screen tentatively as the One boy engaged with the audience. "And it's early to make solid judgments but we can find out who these characters are. Minor details can pave way for major spoilers."

"Yeah," I scratched my hair. "Those Careers look… Intimidating. Spoiler alert: they're likely to kill someone."

Roxanne paused it and rushed to the screen, her finger pressed against the One girl's forehead.

" _Look at that_ ," Roxanne said enthusiastically, turning to me like she had seen a clue that would lead to an inevitable victory. She played the video again, but I didn't get what she was getting at. "If you pay close attention she's glaring at the boy in question. Careers are never friends – never. But that's grade A jealousy. That's a crack in the alliance. Miss Jordyn Rossi is no regular Career; she's had no media training compared to her more squeaky clean contemporary, who has been trained by the academy to deal with media," the Careers had PR trainers, now? Wow. "She is ambitious and _jealous_. There are already cracks in the alliance."

"Maybe," I moved towards the couch and sat down. "But how do I fit into that? Everyone knows the Careers turn on each other."

"You become a storyteller, think of ways you can feed into the Capitol's desire for a story," she smiled. "Tell Jordyn you heard him talking about how pathetic she looked in training. Tell another trained Career you heard Jordyn planning to betray them – they'll _know_ she's out of place," Roxanne turned and smiled at me. "This is the pre-Games. You know how the Games has no rules except kill to survive? Well you have the same endless possibilities, except this time you don't even have to kill."

Maybe Roxanne had a point. I glanced at the frozen Jordyn on screen. I didn't know what I could do by merely inventing a story – I definitely couldn't win on that alone. But if I fed into a Capitolian narrative… It felt Machivallian, but…

"Okay, Roxanne," I bit my lip slightly. "Lets see what you have to say about the other tributes."

"You haven't seen any of it yet," she said, turning around and pressing play. "Oh, and call me Maxwell. I don't do formalities."

* * *

 **Thanks for all the reviews :)**

 _ **~Toxic**_


	6. An Overdose of Optimism

**Tauri Harvick, District 13 Escort**

I made sure my winged eyeliner was extra sharp when I applied it, just to give it that rough edge. After observing myself in the mirror, I couldn't help but smile and revel in how fierce I looked. Apparently our little tributes in Thirteen thought that just because I wore a dress and knew how to make my make-up look good I was some kind of weak person. Many people had underestimated my strength before. But they were looking at someone who used to command a whole Peacekeeping legion.

Someone who trained Peacekeepers to help destroy their pathetic excuse of a nation and absorb it into the Capitol.

Who ever said you couldn't look good and fight well, too?

I was surprised to even be here, in this train, being paid millions of credits and getting to enjoy so many free Capitolian luxuries on the Hunger Games' own budget. When the President himself phoned me to proposition me with the job, I was shocked to say the least.

 _"_ I can certainly help them look and act good _,"_ I told the President matter-of-factly. "But I'm not escort. I'm not sweet or polite, I don't lead by example, I lead with tough discipline. I'm much better at punching someone in the jaw than I am at sweet talking them into a dangerous arena."

"That's why I asked you to do this," the President replied in a self-satisfied tone, as if he was positive that he had made the correct decision to employ me.

So here I was. No longer was I in the military; now I was fighting an entirely different war and to top it all off the wage was so much better and I was personally so much safer. After holding my elaborate hair in place with the help of spray, I made my way towards the television room and felt on top of the world.

No doubt that even after I had almost choked the life out of one of the rats, they would continue to sneer and look down on me. I'd learned people tended to underestimate me. From a young age I had enjoyed wearing dresses and playing with girl's toys, though I certainly didn't feel I fit into any gender box. I saw myself as quirky, and I liked it. But other people didn't, and that was their mistake. Little Epsilon and Nate would be repeating a long-standing history.

"I see you've come to your senses," I said, looking at the broken little monsters, who were sat next to each other without saying a word. It seemed like they had changed and showered since I had last saw them. Good. Blood stains didn't really suit either of their skin tones.

"What do we have to do?" Epsilon said.

"I'm assuming you watched your recap," I sat down opposite them and crossed one leg over the other. "So, what did you think of the other tributes?"

I glanced at Nate, hoping he'd talk. He merely avoided eye contact, like he didn't want to see me. I almost fed off his fear. I got the impression he was mind bogglingly dull anyway, but he was even more wordless than I had interpreted. A noise came from Epsilon's lips, like she wanted to say something, but she stopped.

"Go on," I prompted her.

"I don't understand these people," she said honestly. "They can't be that strong, right? They just _march_ onto the stage." I bit my bottom lip slightly, realising this thing was very new for the tributes in front of me. "And… And… And then some people voluntarily make themselves get onto the stage. They participate on their own accord, how stupid do you have to be to do that?" She glanced at Nate briefly. "Sorry."

"It's okay," he smiled weakly.

"Do you know much about District Four, Two or One?" I asked her briefly.

"Well, we don't know much about any of the Districts," she admitted. "In school they tried to discourage us from thinking about any other entity bar the Capitol, which had to be destroyed, and Thirteen which we had to protect. I mean, we have a name for One, Two and Four, but I don't know how true it is…"

"I'd like to hear it," I said to her. "Go on. Do tell. I won't bite."

She looked me in the eye when I gave her my most intimidating grin, as if she knew I was more than capable of biting when the opportunity presented itself. She stumbled over her words for a short while, but the boy next to her eventually spoke:

"People from One, Two and Four are known as lapdogs in Thirteen," he told me. "All the Districts have lost their strength and will. We saw that on the television. But people from One, Two and Four have strength and will. They just choose to direct it towards worshiping the Capitol, they will kill and fight _for_ them."

Ah. District Four. Though stereotypically a pro-Capitol District, we had a lot of trouble with their liberal government and even more trouble with the growing rebels there. District Four was very much one of our closest allies, but it was also a hotbed for rebellion. _Was._

"We don't know think of them as lapdogs, naturally," I said to Epsilon, taking a china teacup and selecting my favourite tea, oolong, to drink. "But did you not notice how many of the volunteers came from there? Did you not see that some seemed happy or honoured to be on that stage?" Epsilon and Nate shared a concerned look. It seemed they had noticed that. "And District Two fought? That's because we know of them as Careers."

"Careers?"

"Yes, they make a career out of their candidacy in the Games," I said, taking a sip and trying to gauge their reaction. They seemed slow to catch onto the words properly. "From a young age, usually age twelve, sometimes as soon as they can walk and talk, they are trained in the art of survival and handling a weapon." They slowly seemed to catch onto the real danger of the Games and horror dawned onto their faces. I know I was vouching for them to survive, technically, but I still couldn't help but feel amused. "They're strong, brutal and they know how to fight and kill. Some even enjoy killing. Many aren't beyond torture."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Epsilon stood up and made her way to the bathroom. She keeled over, trying to breathe steadily, before deciding she wasn't going to throw up. Good. I didn't want a stained carpet.

"They used to win almost every game," I said after another hefty sip. "As the Games evolved, the Districts got a little tougher – they're definitely not trained, but people are more likely to be prepared for the horrors they could potentially face in the arena. Careers still win the majority of Games, though. Three Districts winning about seven out of ten Games… Not favourable odds, is it?" I didn't even get into the economic and popularity advantages the Career Districts faced in comparison to their weaker counterparts.

"So they're the ones we watch out for?" Epsilon said.

"You watch out for everyone," I replied. "But most importantly, you watch out for them. They hunt in packs, too. If you're caught by the group, unless there's some kind of miracle, things aren't going to bode well for you." I finished off my tea, putting the china cup down. Epsilon clung onto a counter to try and keep herself stable. I saw her moment of vulnerability as the perfect time to sweet talk her into the subordination she so claimed to hate.

I approached her, placing a manicured hand onto her shoulder as she continued to cry. Behind us, Nate was silent and observant. With his almost impartial reaction, you'd think he wouldn't be coming into the arena.

"This is why I'm employed to help you," I said smoothly to Epsilon as she continued to cry. "The Careers, the arena, the mutts," I realised she probably didn't know much about mutts or anything. They had only been allowed to start watching past Games three or so months ago, but Epsilon didn't seem to have watched it at all. "It's a tough game and I can teach you how to survive."

"What if survival isn't worth it?" She said coldly, shaking my hand off her shoulder and glaring at me.

"That's your choice."

She opened her mouth to say something, but her tongue froze. She looked at me with some level of horror.

She was from Thirteen. In the past year I had no doubt she'd seen countless death and destruction. Many people close to her were probably in graves. Considering Thirteen citizens and soldiers were given amnesty by the Capitol, it wouldn't surprise me if she herself had fought and killed, which placed her on a strong level in the Games.

"I thought so," I said to her. "Now sit down and tell me how military in Thirteen goes, so we can leverage your natural chances with all of the other tributes. Then we can talk strategy."

* * *

 **Iopian Endovnier, District 11 Mentor**

Whenever I looked into the mirror, I could see cracks in my appearance: dark bags eclipsed my eyes, I looked like I was ageing badly and my usually unkempt stubble looked like it was going to evolve into a beard. When the Capitol was going to assign me a stylist, they were going to have a heart attack and ask me what I'd been doing the past year. If I told that escort I just drank and wallowed in my own pain, they'd probably force me to see another stupid counsellor or something.

They said the Games were the worst part. After throwing myself onto my large bed and sighing loudly, I realised how wrong they were. Being a Victor was its own game, its own cage in a miserable arena where all eyes were still on you. Screw up in any way, make any mistake, and you would suffer. The President made that clear when he had killed two people who had meant something to me.

I wanted to curse Lia, my tribute last year whose identity and family I had went to extreme lengths to protect, but I didn't even have the strength to do that. Her family were alive, mission accomplished. I just wish I didn't have to become broken in the process.

I snapped up, waking from a very short nap. Eleven's escort, Magellan, was walking around the room and fixing things up. When she saw I was awake, she glared in my direction:

"Iopian, you're supposed to be the smart one," she said, opening my wardrobe, removing some tailored clothes and throwing them onto the end of the bed. "So excuse me for assuming that you'd be clever enough to understand that you're supposed to have a conversation with our tributes. You know about all the boring stuff like survival and strategy, I know how to walk with eight-inch heels. We had a working relationships!"

"We did?" I groaned, leaning up and rubbing my temples. "By the way, I knew that I had to talk to the tributes. I'd just rather not." Last year, I knew my tributes weren't going to survive and made the mistake of having a personal connection anyway. I'd been hurt enough in my life, and I definitely wasn't ready to have a connection with people who were inevitably going to be executed. I changed shamelessly in front of Magellan, kicking myself in to two shoes. She approached me, tightening my tie and buttoning my shirt.

"Is that _whiskey_ I smell, Iopian?"

"Vodka," I said honestly. "Don't worry, I only drink when I'm alone." She opened her mouth. "No, I don't have a drinking problem, I know how alcoholism works." She raised a finger. "No, I don't intend of drinking in the Capitol. You always try to flavour your ale and it's disgusting."

"Well, I'm glad we've reached a compromise," Magellan smiled at me. For the first time in a while, I smiled back. Magellan wasn't my kind of person, but she was my escort four years ago and we'd worked together ever since, so even if our alliance was forced it was still an alliance nonetheless. "You ready to go out and meet them? Flori and Rye are their names."

"Flori and Rye," I repeated, nervous to speak to people who would probably die no matter how much I advised them. I tried to contain my panic a little, as if I were the one who was going back to the arena. "Awesome. Lets get this show on the road."

After walking along multiple carriages, I had finally been in front of the tributes eye-to-eye for the first time. I almost felt the air get knocked out of me. One of them at least was definitely going to die; both of them were going to go through the worst trauma – a trauma that only I and other Victors could truly understand. I wouldn't wish what they were going through on my worst enemy.

Actually, when I thought about the man I hated most, I realised I'd wish that and more on him.

"Hey," I sat down opposite them and put on a good front, but inside reminded myself that there had to be some distance for my own sake. I held out a hand. "The name is Iopian."

"You don't have to introduce yourself," the girl said, an emptiness in her voice. She grabbed my hand, but both of us seemed to avoid looking at each other, which created an awkwardness. "Y-You're pretty famous."

"I… I guess I am," I smiled. It was obvious that I was famous, but describing myself as such still seemed so weird. I was born to a poor family, I used to work in Eleven's import station, and I saw myself as the same as anyone else. And yet I was so much more different. "But I'm not the one the Capitol will be focusing on this year. All eyes will be on you two," I saw Rye roll her eyes and glanced at her. "You think you won't be looked at?"

"Neither of us are particularly remarkable people," she said bluntly. When Florian winced, she glanced to him. "Sorry, but it's true."

"I… Yeah."

"That doesn't matter," I kicked back, suddenly finding the emotional distance hard. I think it was pretty easy to connect over people when you were partially responsible for their lives, and had to help them not die. "Doesn't matter if you were the most dull person on earth. You're all interesting now, all twenty-fo – I mean, twenty-six of you." Rye looked like she was about to interrupt, but I got there first: "Hear me out. You're in a state-sponsored fight to the death. If you met someone on the street who'd told you that they'd been in the Hunger Games that would automatically make them interesting."

I waited for her to challenge me again, but Rye was silent. We made eye contact, and I didn't know if she was quiet because my point was too good to deny or if she knew that I was still going to talk to her. I glanced at Florian, who was staring at his trembling hands, before I continued:

"So you're interesting, whether you like it or not," I got the feeling Rye almost disliked being thought of as somebody interesting, strangely. "And the Capitol are going to feed that image by making you look like stars and interviewing you. At home, the media will be investigating every morsel of your life and feeding it to the press. As soon as we step out of the train in the Capitol photographers, who will be hungry to see your every move… If the world discovers you like dark chocolate, guess what? Dark chocolate sales will treble and everyone will be making theories on how that will affect your chances in the Games. In Eleven it doesn't feel like there's a media circus quite so much, but there is one. You need to understand that. You're interesting. You're wanted."

"But we cease to be interesting when we die, right?" Florian said glumly. I glanced at him, and he continued: "I mean, we're famous now, but it's fifteen minutes… Unless we're victors. Only the super memorable tributes who died get remembered. I can name most of last years' tributes, and a good portion of the tributes the years before that. I can names of a few cool tributes ten, twenty years ago even. But, I don't know… I don't even know what your District partner was called. We're only interesting while we're a living commodity."

"Her name was Orchard," I said lowly, giving the room an intensity it hadn't had before. Florian avoided eye contact with me and I addressed him: "Maybe that's all the more reason you have to survive."

"So, what do we do, then?" Rye finally spoke again. I glanced at her. "Two boring kids from District Eleven, suddenly interesting because we're most likely on a one-way trip to our own deaths. What can we do to survive when we've never handled a weapon in our lives once?"

She was a realist. I hoped she kept that realism close.

"I know you were told you weren't going to be interviewed until the evening before the Games," I told Rye, hating the prospect of knowing about her. I wanted to objectify her, even – just see her as a competitor that I had to help win. But as time went on it would be inevitable that she was a person, that everyone else in the Games was a person. "But we need to find any strengths and weaknesses you have and alter your strategy based on them. I won because I knew a lot about berries, as stupid as that sounds, so don't feel stupid if you have an unconventional skill," I looked between the both of them. "So do either of you work. Even if you don't, isn't community service compulsory for everyone up to eighteen if they're not willing to pay extra taxes? What do you guys do for that?"

I noticed Rye smile at me, as if she found something funny.

"I pick berries," she said.

* * *

 **Daymiun Atilia, District 9 Escort**

Because my tributes were one of the many unfortunate tributes that had no live Victor to guide them, they were instead relegated to the guidance of a survival expert. I couldn't help but feel bad for them: these experts had survived the harsh arctic storms way North, and the rainforests down South, and may have had valuable advice, but they didn't know how the _Games_ operated – not truly. They had never killed anybody and they had never been in a real kill or be killed situation. They were survivalists, not Victors, and even I knew that while there was an overlap they were two very different things.

I made my way into my own room, checking my reflection in the mirror. I hated suffocating make-up and extravagant clothes, but wearing them was expected in an escort. Considering the cameras wouldn't be on, it felt safe to assume I could go the evening without it.

As I squirted some make-up remover onto my hand and massaging it around my face, I listened to the background television:

"Betting odds have already been released, though thankfully sponsorship doesn't open until after the chariot rides, so they don't directly influence anyone's prospects yet," Leein Malpin said whilst being interviewed by a woman who I recognised. Her professional demeanour and calm tone had made her a great narrator to a string of recent documentaries about the Hunger Games that had been out the past couple of years.

"So Leein, how do you interpret the betting prospects?"

"Well, in a purely mechanical way people are betting on the following people making the final eight: all six Careers, not unexpected, plus Roxanne Maxwell and Perseverance Bright and Xavier Day tying for eighth place," the commentator said. "Betting odds seem to think this year's Bloodbath will have a similar intensity to last year's, eight tributes, with the unlucky eight being both Three tributes, Kai Chiroshi, Tamal Arbor, both Eight tributes, Tesni Rosette and Florian Flax."

"But we're likely to be very surprised," the interview said matter-of-factly.

"I have no doubt we will be surprised. There's possibly more to tributes that meet the eye – maybe Kai Chiroshi is a genius that knows how to manipulate electricity and fry the Careers, maybe Tesni Rosette is a black belt in karate. Betting odds at the beginning of any Games are infamous for their inaccuracy: only three out of the initial predicted final eight made it that way, and only three of the predicted six bloodbath tributes died in last year's Bloodbath."

I sighed. Tesni definitely was not a blackbelt in karate; she was as timid and unconfident in the train as she was at her reaping. Silas was a little better, but like the viewers I didn't see him as final eight material. Both were still shellshocked when I had left them, and I had little hope that they'd be making it out alive.

I was shocked when the phone in my bedroom had started to chime, so immediately grabbed it and placed it to my ear:

"This is Damiun Atilia, District Nine escort," I said. Silence. I noticed the line was extremely static, and kept cutting in and out.

"This is your Aunt River," I managed to make out a low voice. My Aunt… She had said goodbye to me almost two years ago, and then disappeared without a trace. I knew she had always been rebellious and anti-Capitol, so mourned her and assumed her dead and moved on with my own life. But that was undeniably her voice, and she sounded terrified.

"What? Aunt River?" I moved to the end of my bed, scrambling for words. At first I was incoherent. "Who? What? What? Where are you?"

"District Four."

I bit my lip slightly. Moving Districts was illegal, and I was sceptical River could have ever nabbed a permit.

"River these lines are monitored. How are you in District Four? How did you get this number? What the hell are you doing?"

"We've bypassed the system. No time-" the line cut off. Before I hung up, crackling reignited and her voice was once again audible: "-have to get out of here to avoid the purges. If they come for you head to-" more static, though I heard something about heading North. "If you follow maple and-"

It wasn't the insecure line that cut the conversation short, the train jolted to a sudden halt and I was flung forward into the wall, my skull immediately feeling the force of the impact before it was slammed against the floor. I groaned, looking up at the ceiling for a few seconds while the train was left to a standstill. After a while I decided it was safe enough to return to the phone, though when I pressed it to my ear I couldn't hear anything.

"River?" I said shakily, terrified the Capitol had heard and would punish me for dare associating with someone so rebellious. "R-River?"

No response. I hung up and wandered into the corridor outside, where Silas was peering out of the window. Tesni lingered in the doorway, and when I looked at her she seemed almost ashamed that she had been noticed.

"What's happened?" Silas said. "Also, what train is that?"

I eyed the purple carriages, important signifiers.

"That's District One's train," I said.

"W-Where are we?" Tesni said timidly. She was blatantly afraid to speak up.

"Don't worry, this is standard protocol," I said, checking the time. "It's important for traditional reasons that all trains arrive in the Capitol at the same time. Some Districts, like District One, Seven and Thirteen are pretty far from the Capitol. Others, like District Eight, Six and your own District are a little closer. So all the trains have a rest stop in the centre, just to even things out a bit."

"So for the past six hours we've been travelling further away from the Capitol?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, wow," Silas smirked. "Seems like a good route to escape."

"Don't say that," Tesni said again fearfully. I felt as if she were almost addressing me: "The Capitol take these kinds of things seriously, you never know when you can provoke them."

Silas didn't seem to care very much, but I definitely did. I watched him shrug nonchalantly, and noted that I wouldn't be so casual next time. Still, I felt weirded out knowing River was so far away in District Four. She couldn't be safe, right? And what did she mean about maples and purges? I was in daze for a minute, before I addressed the tributes:

"Let me take you to the dining area," I smiled, forcing myself to walk. "It's almost dinner time."

They followed me obediently, a few carriages before we were in a large room with your cliché signs of extravagant wealth: chandeliers, silk carpets and diamond champagne glasses. Even when I was young I didn't get accustomed to such luxuries, so wasn't shocked when Silas' jaw virtually dropped. Tesni, however, seemed a little less impressed.

"The table is set, the Avoxes will bring out the food soon," I told them, sitting at the head of the table. Silas and Tesni sat on opposite sides, keeping a noticeably safe distance from one another. "So, how did things with your mentor go?"

"It went…" Silas forced cheerfulness. "Yeah, it was fine."

I felt like this small talk was so trivial. "That's wonderful, what about you Tesni? How do you feel about your prospects?"

Tesni tried to hide her face behind her mousy brown hair, seemingly having a fixation on the table beneath.

"I dunno, okay, I guess."

"Are you partnering up?"

"I offered to," Silas said quickly before Tesni could. She looked up at him, giving him a curious look. "I know partnering up can be useful, and our mentor advised it, but Tesni seemed less certain. I do want to find allies though. I'm not weak, but I'm definitely not going to make it if I go solo."

I didn't expect an explanation from Tesni, but she gave one anyone: "Um, yeah, no offence Daymiun but last time two of your tributes paired up the guy ripped out the girl's tongue in the Bloodbath." She was referring to Cardinal and Elise, two tributes who I _definitely_ didn't want to think about. I tried to hold back a chilled feeling, and Silas seemed insulted that she could even make that comparison.

"It's early days," I said, watching Avoxes come flooding in with multiple dishes of food. I was starving. "Why don't you think on it?"

"I'll think on it…"

Secretly, I hoped she wasn't going to think of it for too long. It may have been early days technically, but Tesni had less than a week to make decisions that would influence her whole life in the most profound ways. I understood those decisions weren't going to be easy, but they were definitely necessary.

* * *

 **Edoire Gazette, District 7 Escort**

I shouldn't have been so nosey, but I did enjoy eavesdropping in on my tributes. They acted so much more naturally when they weren't with me, just nodding along and subserviently obeying my every command because they _knew_ their lives depended on it. When they were alone, they seemed a lot more natural. I peered through a crack between two oak doors, seeing them sitting down at the large table and waiting for dinner to be served. They were silent, the only sounds audible being radio broadcasts:

"President Blidkä has arrived in the Capitol via hovercraft," Caecilius Norton said. "He is expected to make his first public appearance to the Capitolian public on the night of the chariot races. Through the Games, both Presidents will be occupied discussing the newformed alliance between Romantia and Panem, including issues of trade and – as worded by the Romantians – _human rights_ ," the word was said with a particular emphasis, like it was strange. And it kind of was. In the Capitol we were progressive, and we had our own enlightenment forty years or so ago. Human rights were a thing, but they were something decided by the President, not something people wielded around like a weapon like Romantians apparently did.

It struck me as entitled. Whilst people deserved some form of good treatment, I didn't think it was their decision to bark at the government. Our leaders our leaders for a reason, and we had to follow what they said.

"I thought these Romantians didn't like Panem," I heard Tamal say, his voice barely audible. "At least they didn't a year ago."

"You know how we elect our Mayors, and Capitolians elect the Cabinet Ministers?" There was a pause, but I think Tamal nodded. "Well Romantians elect their own President."

"Really? Weird."

"I know. So it means they change their mind on those kind of things a lot," Percy said. "I think even if they kept their leader they'd be doing this though. If there's one thing about politics, it's that it's… temperamental."

Deciding I was on cue, I opened the doors. Percy was stood up, leaning on a counter close to the radio, which continued to announce news. Tamal was sat down, a shrinking violet. Avoxes had already come in from the kitchen and were silently setting out more food than the tributes had problem seen in the entirety of their lives.

"You okay, Edoire?" Percy smiled. I glanced at her and nodded. "How did…" She smirked, halting. "How was the nose powdering?"

Looked like she had caught onto the euphemism. Most substances in the Capitol were legal, as we liked to encourage regulated fun to keep our mind off the more mundane or bloody things that surrounded daily life in Panem. A new drug called Tritafin was the new craze – healthier than the more commonly distributed Cochrodite, but it gave me the same sense of ease. And, to add even more bonuses to it, you lost weight when you took it frequently too!

"Oh look, dinner is served," I was quite hungry, probably an effect of the substance I'd taken up my nose. I sat down, virtually tearing half a roast chicken off and placing it on my plate. I grabbed the gravy boat and swamped my food, noting Tamal staring at his empty plate and Percy keeping her distance from the table. "You do know you're allowed to eat, right?"

"Oh yeah, sorry," Percy excused herself, sitting at the table and smiling weakly at me. "So when does the killing thing start?" She asked casually, unloading a lot of potatoes onto her plate, followed by a heavy dose of vegetables and a generous slab of roast beef.

"You know how the Games work," I told her, covering my mouth so I could talk as I ate all the delicious goods. "I know a lot of us think the pre-Games are boring but that doesn't sacrifice their importance."

"Okay, but we have hovercrafts now, wouldn't it make so much more sense if we all got to the Capitol in minutes?"

I glanced at Tamal, who wasn't eating his food and was merely jabbing at it with a fork. Judging by how little Tamal and Percy conversed, I doubted they'd be allies anytime soon – although that was better than them being at each other's throats. All things considered, despite Percy's sweet disposition it wouldn't surprise me much if she did kill him once it was legal.

"Well, it's just a thing called tradition," I smiled.

"But sometimes tradition isn't logical," Percy said. She seemed to halt when she had said it, as if she had some kind of revelation, and then she had suddenly silenced herself, which was refreshing. I glanced at Tamal and noticed his expression had become even more dark and miserable, and the carrots on his plate had been positively mutilated as they were repeatedly skewered.

I worried about my tributes a lot – I mean, technically I did every year because at least one of them were going to die. But despite their contrasts, Tamal and Percy had very different and very noticeable flaws. Tamal was silent, and it was obvious he had been devastated by his reaping. A rational response, but not one that was going to get him out of the arena alive. Being a volunteer, for reasons I wasn't interested in, Percy's disposition couldn't be anymore different: she had kept herself happy, occupied and engaged. Optimism was a healthy medicine that I'd tell anybody to take, but like all medicines there was a point when you'd eventually overdose. When I looked at Percy, I wondered when she was going to overdose.

Not that she _was_ all sunshine and rainbows. When her screeching family had screamed out her name at the reaping she showed cracks in her enthusiastic mask, and occasionally those cracks would reveal themselves again and again no matter how hard she tried. Even an optimist or a volunteer couldn't give much of a positive spin to a death match…

"Did you find your mentor useful?" I asked. There was a silence filled only by Avoxes continuing to top up the dinner and gradually introduce dessert, or by the scraping of cutlery on china. "No?" I turned to Tamal, expecting an answer, though he tactically forced food in his mouth so that he was forced into silence.

"He didn't offer me anything substantial," Percy said with a brutal honestly, she shrugged and helped herself to another slab of meat. "But that said, I've been planning this whole deal for like a year anyway. He asked things I've already thought about, like alliances, training, blah blah blah…" I opened my mouth but Percy looked at the meat with curiosity. "What the hell is this, by the way? You don't get in in District Seven."

"We call it roast beef."

"Nice, I like it."

"I do too," I smiled.

"And, do all Capitolians eat in a room _just_ for eating?" Percy continued to inquire no matter how I tried to talk tactics. "An… Eating room?"

"Most of us, we call them dining rooms."

She chuckled. "You guys are weird. I like it."

I laughed, because I found it interesting that someone from the District found our complex ways _weird_. We were just so much more sophisticated. Mildly irritated, I just chuckled politely. I think Percy got the signal, because when she talked from then on it was only to ask Tamal to pass something. When dessert came, only I ate it, Percy and Tamal seemed unused to so much food or to the concept of dessert in general.

"My mentor told me to go into the Bloodbath to survive," Tamal finally said, breaking the silence. Both Percy and I looked shocked. "I don't think he knows how the Games work… Not really."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because supplies are important," Tamal's voice broke. "But I don't know. If I go in there, I know a Career will kill me. It just… I-I feel like I'm making a decision already on whether I starve to death or get butchered by a Career while trying not to starve to death," Tamal sighed and rubbed at his eyes, though there were no tears. He exhaled. "I _wish_ I could be enthusiastic. I _wish_ I could talk about this like it was a game. But it's not…"

"Well there are winners or losers," I said uncertainly. Percy glanced at me seriously, like I had missed the point.

Tamal then started to cry, though it was very lightly. I wasn't good at damage control, even though I felt that was one of the most important aspects of being an escort. I scooped some ice cream, offered it to him, claimed it would help, but he virtually ignored me. When I looked at Percy for advice, she looked completely different – she herself seemed terrified and disillusioned.

"It's dark outside," I said awkwardly, standing up and biting my bottom lip. "Why don't you guys enjoy a lemon scented shower, wrap up warm and wake up with a fresh mind?"

They both worthlessly obeyed; Percy left first, leaving a half eaten plate. Tamal followed fifteen minutes later, when he had the strength, though he hadn't eaten anything at all. I sat at the head of the table, staring at an empty table full of uneaten food, trying to comprehend what I could do to help my tributes cope with the next few weeks – let alone survive them.

* * *

 **Sorry for late update. The pressure of exams are kicking in, so until late May expect updates to become a little bit more unpredictable.**

 **Thanks so much! 100 reviews is pretty great :)**

 **I'm enjoying your interpretation of the characters. For some reason, it makes me happy when I see a character get portrayed positively by one reviewer and hated by another. I don't know why, because I feel like I should be aiming to make you all love the characters, but I enjoy all the vast interpretations.**

 **Although I guess my aim is to make you like like or care for them all eventually, or at some point in the story at least. The best characters are like onions – you peel back all those layers. And then you cry.**

 **Anyway, thanks for all your reviews! I can't wait to introduce you to all of the characters :D**

 ** _~Toxic_**


	7. Show Must Go on

**Happy Friday 13th. You're all unlucky enough to have to deal with me again.**

 **I guess before you read this chapter, or after, you may have to skim the rest of this story and maybe the preview chapter of the last story to get a feel of the story again. I know I needed to.**

* * *

 **Arabella Thern, District 8, 16**

I'd always been well off in District Eight. Unlike most of my peers, I could enjoy pretty dresses, I could afford to wash and style my hair and I could revel in the marvels of jewellery and other accessories. But the moment I'd woken up and changed from my cotton pyjamas to a summer dress that looked like it could be worth hundreds of credits, I'd realised that the Capitol was a whole new level of wealth, which meant I could afford a whole new level of beauty. I wasn't someone who avoided bloodlust, but I didn't use it via weaponry and strength – I used it with every other asset I had.

And I had plenty of assets. The moment I'd been reaped, my heart caved in and I pathetically had to be dragged onto the stage. I could act sadness, but that was a genuine reaction. I didn't _want_ to be in a death match. But I was the Queen of my school, thanks to all the social ties, cunning and money I had. I realised that the Hunger Games was very much its own twisted high school, filled with typical teenagers who had their own weak emotions and wants. All I had to do was find a way to exploit it.

Only this time I didn't have my two greatest assets. My father, a man who was always worked to death but had time to shower me with money whenever I clicked my fingers, and my Uncle, who was the chancellor of District Eight which meant I could always find the right social ties for the right situations. I let my hair fall down in adorable ringlets, purposely applying make-up that made me look younger and adding a little bow as the cherry on top.

There was always a way. From a young age I realised that in Panem there were two kinds of people: people who cared for others and suffered for it, and the people who only had it in for themselves. I had always been the latter, and I wasn't prepared to change that in the Games.

Maybe my best bargain was pretending to be the former, to twist people against each other, find people who would be willing to protect me, pressure people into killing for me. I checked myself out one last time before doing an experimental twirl, forcing myself to smile. Today was the first day of seeing what social resources I had.

I made my way to the dining room, where I knew breakfast would take place. I practically flounced into the room.

"What a lovely day!" I said, moving to the window and seeing the sun outside. I looked at the three people sat at the table. "It's so lovely to see you all this morning," I told them in, pushing my voice into a singsong pitch.

It was not lovely to see any of them. Fi-Fi was a bitch and a useless escort, no wonder she had been demoted. Mirane was a self-pitying fool who needed to get over herself and her dumb baby. And there were _so_ many things I disliked about my District partner. He was also self-pitying, he was virtual nobody that wasn't worth associating with because he was definitely going to die. Even with Capitolian clothes on he still looked like a tramp. When he made it to the remake centre, his stylists should all be given medals of honour because they had a battle on their hands.

Nobody replied, everybody glumly stared into his or her cereal. Being the only one with some semblance of social skill, Fi-Fi eventually piped up in an equally artificial voice:

"Good morning Arabella."

"Oh, please, call me Bella," I smiled at her, sitting down next to Bastard, or whatever the toad's name was. I poured some orange juice into my cup and then put a single croissant on my plate, as I wasn't too hungry. "I only let friends call me Bella." Fi-Fi forced another smile and I took a swig of orange juice.

Batiste wasn't somebody who was worth bothering with – I knew that immediately. He needed the word Bloodbath tattooed onto his forehead. But I needed to keep up appearances with anyone; if I faltered and was honest for one minute, he could tell someone vital that I wasn't who I appeared to be, and I couldn't have that happening.

"How are you holding up?" I said to him more gently, deciding that if I acted totally chirpy I'd only look false. I wasn't happy to be in this situation, but I was almost – dare I be stupid enough to say it – excited to see what lay before me. "It's a pretty sucky situation, right?"

"I don't want to talk about it," he told me honestly, letting his spoon sail around the milk in his bowl. "I hoped that I'd be waking up in my own bed today, I hoped that this was just some twisted dream. And it's not. So yeah, I'm not holding up okay." His face was resolute but I knew he was holding back tears.

"Is it about your reapin-?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Batiste said firmly. I flinched as his tone rose, knowing he'd soon have the audacity to talk to me like that when I had approached him with good intentions – or seemingly approached him with honest intentions.

"Batiste," Mirane said sternly, the first time she'd spoke since we'd talked last night about strategy. "Come on, dude. You're not being fair."

I let her sort out his childish tantrum. As if she were his mother, Batiste just nodded. Maybe I did have room in me to respect Mirane – after all, her father gave my Uncle his job.

"Sorry," he told me.

"My reaping didn't go well either," I said to him gently, holding his hand a little bit. "At least you actually made your way to the stage, right?" He looked away from me, as if my reassurances meant nothing. They kind of did. It didn't matter if my performance was initially worse than his; the only thing that mattered was having the best performance. Second place still meant death. My reaping put me at a disadvantage, but I could use it to feign innocence. "You need to show the Capitol that you're actually a sweet guy. That's all they need to know and they'd be lining up to sponsor you."

I seemed to have won him over a little bit. He glanced at me. "Do you really think so?"

"Yeah, now smile," I told him. "You need to be thinking about strategy or something. I know I am."

Mirane stood up, having finished her breakfast. She smiled at me weakly, though I knew it meant nothing. She had the kind of expression you'd see in someone who would never experience happiness again.

"Good pep talk," she said, reaching over and grabbing a tray full of bacon. She began to refill her plate. "You'd make a good mentor, Bella."

"Want to swap places?" I joked. Mirane smiled weakly and I knew I would happily throw her into the arena in place of me; I'd survive, she'd probably get a well deserved beating again, everyone was happy. Maybe she'd even get laid like she did when she was last in the arena, judging by her attitude she certainly needed it.

An Avox came over holding a scalding jug of coffee. Knowing that acting this nice would be a long, long process, I decided I could drink some.

"Here, Avox," I said, gesturing to an empty mug before me. "Fill it up."

The Avox scurried over to me and began pouring.

"So Batiste, maybe you and I could be a team," I said to him casually.

"Um… I think I'm best alone," he said, looking at Mirane for approval. "What do you think?"

"Do what's right for you," Mirane said. "I used to think I was better off without a team though and…" And you got knocked up. So fucking what? Even though I'd never seriously considered being in an alliance with a weedy fourteen year old, I was still frustrated that he had the audacity to turn me down, especially when I had been so _nice_ to him.

Once the Avox finished filling my coffee, I began to apply cream whilst eyeing her next movements. When I saw her move closer to Batiste, trying to reach the head of the table where Fi-Fi impatiently gestured for some, I couldn't help it: I swung my foot out and watched her scramble, dropping the whole container onto Batiste's crotch.

Not what I expected, but that didn't mean I didn't find it hilarious. For a split second, I couldn't hold back my smile. Batiste's reaction was priceless. He looked down at his soaking, steaming pants, initially too shocked to do anything, let alone comprehend the pain. Then he shrieked like a little girl.

"Holy _shit, fuck_ ," he cursed with the kind of language he'd probably get beaten for using at home. He writhed around in his seat as the Avox began to look around, panicking. Fi-Fi made her way to Batiste, pushing the Avox onto the floor and helping him to his feet where he continued howling in pain.

"Get him to the medical wing," Mirane commanded, rushing to him and virtually dragging him away from the carriage. "They can fix him, right?"

"Yes," Fi-Fi scrambled for words hurriedly as they dragged him. He still seemed to be in agony. "We have twenty minutes until we get to the Capitol, hopefully enough time to fix this mishap…"

As if they had forgot I even existed, I was left alone with three Avoxes and enough food to feed an army. Not only did I punish Batiste for his temerity, but I had gotten my wish as I usually did: some time alone to enjoy a hearty breakfast.

I ignored the terrified look from all three of the Avoxes. I think they had known what I had done, but they were the only ones and they couldn't even talk. Who cared?

"I love being me," I said chirpily to all three of them, leaning back in my chair and digging into some breakfast.

* * *

Unfortunately it seemed like Batiste came out of the medical wing as good as new, although a little shaken. I was hoping that I'd managed to melt his balls off or something – maybe I had – but the pesky Capitol knew how to fix just about anything. Still, seeing him get so hurt was totally worth it, and apparently the Avox who made the accident was severely beaten by one of the Peacekeepers.

It served her right for being such a clutz. I just loved a happy ending.

"Hey," I said gently, going over to Batiste and gripping him into a small hug. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, and at the most inconvenient time." I noticed him flinch away from me slightly, but he smiled politely.

"I'll be fine, it barely even hurt."

Masculinity was so fragile; it made boys so much more fun to tease. I ruffled his hair in response, noting that he hated it.

"Okay, now the press cannot know about this mishap," Fi-Fi said as I felt the train begin to halt. Everyone grabbed onto a pinned down surface as a screeching was heard, and outside the window towering buildings and vehicles soaring around the sky could clearly be seen. I watched with some awe, realising that we were in some kind of utopia. "We wouldn't want them to be all over us and giving us bad news coverage. Which also means that you have to be nice, as hard as that is."

"No," Mirane entered the room, a little late. This time she actually looked nice; her messy hair had been straightened, her face contoured to accentuate her features. "Don't try and be nice right now. That's too difficult when they're all being fucks, just make sure you don't snap, keep your attention away from them and make sure you get into the re-make centre."

"That should be easy enough," I said confidently, realising that I could actually enjoy this. Fame was basically popularity on steroids, and I'd never shied from popularity.

Our train halted, finally. Our bodyguards made their way into the carriage.

"We're ready to escort the tributes to the remake centre," one of them said smoothly. "Come with us."

They turned to leave, and Batiste and I had to follow. I assumed Mirane and Fi-Fi would be staying behind and would just make their way to the District Quarters and wait for us there, and I was _so_ glad to be rid of them. As I followed my way out, Mirane blocked the doorway and halted me.

"I want a word later," she said sternly.

"Have I done something?" I said in my most innocent voice.

There was something in her expression I didn't like. "Why, what makes you think you have?"

Mirane was smart, and I didn't like it. Her eyes just looked at me like I was worth watching, and I taunted her with another sugary smile before hurrying after the guards and Batiste. We made our way down multiple corridors before we were escorted to the large double doors where we had entered the train all the way back in District Eight.

"Sorry about that," I said as I finally caught up with them. "Just had a brief wardrobe malfunction."

Outside I could hear the sounds of paparazzi screaming for us to reveal ourselves. Next to me, I could see Batiste was visibly nervous, trying not to blunder like he did in the reapings. I was nervous too, as every time I was in public it could be something that influenced my survival prospects. But I had this in the bag. I had charmed the pants off people before – sometimes literally – so I could do it again. I smoothened my hair slightly, making sure my posture was the best it could be.

The Peacekeepers readied their weapons and pressed their hand on a panel which opened the doors, and the excited cries outside grew so much more audible. Flashes of light sprinkled around my vision as a million photographs were taken of me, I could hear people screaming my name as I stepped out of the train and onto a red carpet.

I could so get used to this.

* * *

 **Raleigh Everett, District 10, 17**

I'd worked with mutts my whole life.

Not the kind I'd have to deal with in the arena, mind. Dogs – although it was likely some of them had underwent minor genetic alterations. These were ones I was paid to train and tame before they were shipped off to the Peacekeepers' home corps, where they would be used to instil that much despised Capitol authority.

The Peacekeepers' dogs were usually vicious. I'd seen other trainers lose fingers on occasion – and I'd been bitten in a way that had left me with a few mild scars that made me look tougher than I really was.

But as we were prodded out of the train, left to the mercy of paparazzi and reporters, I realised that they were much more animalistic and nasty than any wild dog could hope to be. The lights from their cameras attacked my eyes and they desperately grabbed at my District partner and I, asking all sorts of inappropriate questions.

"Lily, is that colour natural?"

"Raleigh, was that your brother who called out your name when you were reaped?"

I winced that they dared bring him into this, remind me of him. Taylor. The blonde menace. The person who annoyed me most, but who I loved the most. We'd shared a room and a life together – he even followed me to work often despite my protestations. It still hurt to think of him. Or my parents. Or my grandfather. Or anybody who was counting on me.

My whole life goal, as foolish as it was, was to not get reaped. I took on extra hours instead of tesserae. I spent weeks before the reaping lying in bed, terrified of the slim prospects. I guess that ambition fell through, though I tried not to kick myself because this problem was no fault of my own. I knew my life was limited, and that terrified me, but I had always been a man of resolve. Now it was time to try and survive – that was the only goal.

Despite all the press' best efforts, we were ushered by an increasingly exasperated group of Peacekeepers into the styling centre, though I could still hear them outside, screaming and shouting, Lily laughed nervously, both amused and exasperated by the experience. I couldn't look at it quite so optimistically.

I did like my District partner, though. She had constantly kept a relatively cheerful façade despite the depressing circumstances that brought us together, and was always willing to talk. Her familiar face made me think our circle of friends had overlapped, and it was easy to see why she had quite a wide circle of friends herself: she was nice. A cynical part of me noted she was potentially too nice – fake – but her talkative and cordial nature was welcome.

I also like how she reminded me of my close workmate, Gracie, who was the sister I never had. They both with very long red hair other girls would envy. Both pale, blue eyed and freckly. Both admittedly attractive and sweet as pie. The main difference was Lily's height – she was a tall girl who had an unintentionally imposing nature about her. But the resemblance was there, and was enough for me to take a liking to her.

"Wait here for your stylists," the Peacekeeper said, strutting off probably to alert the stylists that we had arrived. The remaining two stood around and kept guard, their intimidating looking guns held close.

I took a moment to glance around the place – it seemed cosy, modern and stylish, like any other building you'd expect from the Capitol, though it wasn't ostentatiously decorated: only a painting of the sea and two plain potted plants besides a comfy couch adorned the room.

Lillian slumped onto said couch, relaxing a little bit. She twirled a strand of red hair around her finger and exhaled.

"This is going to be a long day."

"Yeah," I continued glancing around the area. "I'm dreading being styled. It'd be the worst… except for, you know," I felt awkward referring to the inevitable. "The dying thing."

Lily gave a melancholic yet reassuring smile. I kind of envied how socially smart she was – it seemed like she always knew what the appropriate thing to do or say was. But it wasn't in the kind of way where she was following tradition or authority, the kind of nature I'd had adjusted into after working closely with Peacekeepers, it was very natural.

"I've always wanted to be styled my whole life. I like to keep some pride in my appearance," considering how her hair looked on Reaping day, that didn't shock me. "I just haven't had the money."

I sat down close to her. "I make a nice enough wage to afford some okay clothes," I thought back to my Reaping day outfit. "But I like to think in Panem there's worse things to worry about."

"Yeah, you don't strike me as the kind of person who pays much attention to their appearance," Lily said, observing me. When I raised an eyebrow she blushed immediately. "Sorry? Did that appear judgy? I didn't mean to appear judgy – I mean – I guess everyone judges, right? You look good, you look handsome."

"Um, thanks," I laughed a little bit.

"That wasn't flirting, though," she quickly added. I just nodded, which seemed to press a button. "I mean, you know-"

Lily's affable nature might not have been as innate as I expected. I wasn't good at reading people, but she was an open book: a standard people pleaser who was terrified at the prospect of offending anyone. I didn't know if that made me lose some respect for her or not.

"I mean, I don't even like boys," Lily laughed, rolling her eyes.

"Oh? You're into girls?"

"No, no," Lily seemed shocked. District Ten was pretty socially conservative, so being perceived as being into girls probably made Lily worry she was facing major judgment. When I just shrugged, she must have known my attitude was a little more lax. "I mean, not that that's offensive, I have some gay friends," she explained. "But I more meant I've been scorned by the occasional boy in the past. I mean, it's my dream to one day become a mother…" She sighed sadly and stopped rambling. "Guess that's not going to happen. What about you?"

"Huh?"

"You into boys?" She smiled, this time it seemed more intentionally playful. "Is that why you seemed so nonplussed when I put my great moves onto you?"

I laughed. "I'm not above a little flirting every now and then, with anyone," I shrugged. "I guess I'm open minded either way. Maybe you'd charm me if you had better moves."

"Oh?" I was seeing a new relaxed side to Lillian. I think I liked it more. "Well you're hardly Panem's next Casanova yourself. You've barely spoken a word since we were reaped."

"I mean, I am likely being sent off to my death." I said seriously, forcing a wry smile. "I'm not thinking about being social. But I guess it'll be important to make friends once training comes about. People in the Games don't often survive alone anymore, huh?"

"Yeah," Lily looked at her feet and bit her lip nervously. "I guess that means we should become acquainted with one another. I mean, I'm not proposing an alliance," she made clear when she saw my reaction. "I mean – maybe. I just think it's a possibility, and I want to know who I'm going to die with."

"Cheery," I said sarcastically. "So what do you want to know?"

"Are you buds with Hollis Epstein?"

"Yeah, work with the guy."

" _That's_ why you look familiar," Lily smiled. "He dated my friend Harley."

"Small world," I smiled. Although, not really – despite District Ten being the biggest District it had one of the smaller populations.

"He was a prick," Lily said with a bluntness, before blushing.

"Yeah, but he's my prick."

"So what are all those scars from?" Lily asked, out of the blue. "You don't have to answer… it just struck me…"

"This," I pointed to my cheek. "Is nothing. Just a childhood accident. Looks way cooler than it really is," I rolled back my sleeves slightly and showed Lily the multitude of scars that probably did catch her eye on reaping day. "And these are accidents I get at work. I train dogs. Vicious little things, they are."

Lily looked a little more intimidated than she should have been. "Who do you train them for?"

"Peacekeepers."

"Oh, wow," Lily bit her lip a little, straightening up. "That's…"

"People have judged me for it before."

"I won't judge someone for making ends meet," Lily said. "I wish I had the resolve to do that. But school is enough. I probably should work, contribute to the household considering we struggle from time to time…"

Duty meant a lot to me. "Yeah, you should. But I guess it's not worth mulling on because if you lose…" An awkward beat. "And if you win you have enough wealth to last your family a lifetime. Anything else you want to know before we're all pampered?"

"What's that ring?"

"Nothing special, something everyone I work with wears, we all are pretty close. It's like a unity thing," I fiddled with it slightly. I'd miss my friends. Considering Lily liked to pry, I presume she didn't mind being asked questions. "I'm guessing your token is that necklace?" I looked at the flowery accessory around her neck. "What's that from? It's pretty."

Lily suddenly didn't seem conversational. She clasped it.

"It's my sister's," she answered bluntly.

"Close?"

"We were," she bit her lip slightly. I knew when to not butt in further than I needed to. "But… you know… sometimes… bad things happen," she gave a defeated laugh that betrayed how upset she probably really felt. "I guess you and I know that first-hand…"

The awkward silence was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. I glanced upwards, observing Peacekeepers escorting two tributes to their station. The faces seemed familiar: very plain looking with red hair and pale features. The girl was contrastingly dark, relatively strong looking and had angular features and dirty blonde hair. The Thirteens.

They looked glum and confused. I wondered if they knew anything about the situation they were in. As they were led down the corridor, they glanced at Lily and me with some fascination. We gawped back – and we had good reason to be so interested. Only a few years ago we didn't even know they existed.

We said nothing, silenced by their presence, and stared after them when they were long gone. One of the Peacekeepers, who listened to something said into an earpod, came over and jabbed us both on the shoulder very, very lightly – Lily overreacted, rubbing it and wincing as if it hurt.

"Fascinating, aren't they?" He said. "Don't end up too curious. Those poor sons of bitches have a rough, rough time ahead."

I bet they did. We were all sent here because of tradition – the Thirteens were _actually_ being punished for rebellion.

"But for now, you'll be okay, and your stylist wants you," the Peacekeeper said. Like lambs to the slaughter, Lily and I stood up. Or I guess we'd be lambs who would be preened up and fattened. And then there was the whole slaughter thing.

One thing I did like about the Capitol's pre-Games distractions were that they were just that: a distraction from what was to come. I didn't want to think about that bit just yet. Although if I had to survive I'd had to, and beyond a simple plan of form an alliance and just get away from the bloodbath as soon as possible, I didn't really have any strategy. And with the Careers in here – and the District Thirteen bunch (because god knows what kind of environment they lived – _survived_ – in) I knew that had to change very soon.

The Peacekeeper stopped outside a doorway and gestured for Lily to go in.

"Your bit, kid."

"Good luck," Lily smiled down at me and patted my shoulder. "Who knows, maybe once that stylist is done with you I really will want to flirt with you."

"In your dreams," I smiled as she was let in. And then I suddenly felt so alone. I supposed it was dangerous to build a rapport with someone you knew who was bound to die.

... Or who required your death to survive.

* * *

 **Cassandra Diorite, District 12, 15**

This styling thing was the worst thing I had ever endured.

And considering the kind of life I led, I think I was in a position to make that claim and to not make it lightly.

Besides the author girl, I think I was the most famous person who would be entering the Games. Like her, it would just be because of my surname. Like her, I lost someone to the Games. Unlike her, I wasn't related to a Victor. Luke would be forgotten in a few years – everyone who doesn't make the final twelve always is, eventually. But for now, considering he had died only a year ago, he was burned into everyone's memory. When the Four girl chopped his head in two, the sight was so disgusting it was definitely hard to forget.

It was even more unforgettable when that person was your own brother.

When he died, I cried endlessly for weeks – maybe even months. Because he was the last person I had. Luke and I had both grieved together when we had lost our father in a mining accident. He was the only other person who understood the pain of losing a parent.

But he never got to understand the pain of losing two parents. He didn't know that when he was reaped that fateful day had actually prolonged his life by a couple of days. While he was alone in the Capitolian bubble, District Thirteen had struck. Their bombs, meant to cripple Panem of its energy, had crippled and killed so many of us in the Seam in the process.

I remembered the feeling of my whole house collapsing in on me. I remembered the smoke and plaster dust clogging up my lung and choking me to near unconsciousness. I remembered the rubble, ruin and fire everywhere I looked. It didn't take long for me to find my mother's body – I was apparently the only survivor within a mile radius. The bombs had destroyed almost everything I had, and I had to mourn alone.

And then the District Four girl did destroy everything I had. Just one swing and I was completely alone. I'd always been a reserved girl who found it hard to connect with anyone the moment my dad had died, while I was young. I had no friends. I had no family. I had no one.

I worked at the bakery my mother once worked at, and instead of being given a wage I was given a place to say. It was very charitable of the family, though it made sense because they lost their son in the bombings so they had a room spare. We never really connected; I think, beyond pity, they never really liked me. But mutualism was a real thing. So I survived.

You could say that only made me unluckier. I kept on surviving. It may have been better if I had been blown into chunks by those bombs; because every single day I lived with a sense of loneliness and pain. One by one, everyone I was close to died and I lived. I was a walking poison and bad omen.

That's why I barely flinched when my name was called. I almost expected it. I think a part of me had even hoped for it. I knew that a couple of days into the arena I would die, if not earlier. Luke was the most brilliant person I ever knew. He could remember everything – literally. And he didn't even make it into the final twelve of the Hunger Games. So what chance did I ever have?

A slim one. If I died, so be it.

If my bad luck led me to keep on surviving? I wouldn't let that be in vain. People often saw Rayann as a bold, somewhat rebellious victor. The kind of stuff I would say to the Capitol once I had fame and influence to somewhat protect me? They wouldn't see it coming. And because I had no one close to me they had nothing they could leverage against me. Not even my own life could be an effective blackmail against me...

… The thought of the things I would do, the things I would say if I won was the only thing that spurred me and gave me some motivation to survive.

Not that I was a rebel. Not that I liked them. They had as much blood on their hands, and they helped District Thirteen. How I despised District Thirteen for what they did to my family and me. I hoped to utilise the training activities for what they were worth. If I could kill even one of their own, the way they killed some of my District's own…

… And the Careers… they were something else. I doubted I could ever kill them. But if the opportunity ever arose, I wouldn't just do it. I'd do it slowly and with a smile on my face. After everything the Capitol, the rebels, District Thirteen had done to me… I deserved to feel like the world had some justice in it. Just once.

I winced as two of the four stylists ripped some hair from my leg.

About this being the worst experience ever? Yeah. I wasn't being sarcastic. It really hurt. And was incredibly invasive. I'd never let anyone see me naked before, unless my parents seeing me naked as a baby counted. So to suddenly be exposed to four strangers who were prodding and spraying and cutting and waxing and god knows what…

A woman who had frosty blue dye covering her skin looked me in the eyes, before raising something to my eyebrow. I held in a yelp of pain as she plucked at it.

"You know, you could be really beautiful if you tried," she said in a high-pitched Capitolian accent. "You have that Seam-esque beauty we hear so much about."

"But very rarely see," a green skinned woman in a flowery dress quipped behind her, leading all four of them to laugh. I glanced at the four stylists in turn, noting that they all looked very, very similar.

"Are you guys related?" I asked. I rarely made or liked small talk, but I was curious. We often joked about how Capitolians all looked the same – even if they coloured and wore a diverse and odd set of attire – but this took the cake.

"Oh yes, we're all sisters," a woman with an array of fiery colours forming an ombre around her body, skull and hair said matter of factly as she snipped and styled at my hair from behind. "Can you tell?"

"Um, yeah."

"I'm Wynter," the most conventionally attractive, blue skinned sister said as she plucked at my eyebrows.

"Summa!" A blonde haired, yellow tinted woman said as she clipped at my toenails.

"Awtum," the red haired, ombre woman said as she styled my hair.

I looked at all of the women uneasily as they stepped aside, the last of them pointed some metallic, hose like object at me.

"Springg," she said with a smile in a very synchronised way that made me think the women had choreographed their introduction.

After speaking, she released a blast of water with the press of a button. The scalding hot stream covered me and burned me with a pressure so high that I was thrown back in my seat. Now I understood why they had footrests and handrests that I had to clutch to.

Just when I thought it couldn't be any worse… Once the waterfall stopped I lay there, exhaling with frustration as my skin felt burned and my head throbbed. The women laughed, like it was funny.

"Sorry, sweetie," Springg said before her three sisters descended in on me, attacking me with powders and perfumes. "Just protocol."

I coughed and spluttered through the mist of perfume.

"Our mother is your main stylist," Wynter told me matter-of-factly. "She's great. You'll like her."

"So you're sisters, and you work with your mother?" I asked. They all nodded. "That's nice. You guys should keep each other close."

"We do, we do. We grew closer, after losing our dad," Summa told me.

"So do you get the Twelve bunch often?" I asked. If they did, they mustn't be good stylists. Their method was certainly rough and painful… I wondered if that was commonplace. If that was what was necessary in the Capitol to be deemed good looking, I wondered if life in a lower District was actually less painful.

"Nah, it revolves at random, though the more fancy schmancy stylists are more likely to get Careers," Springg told me bitterly. Interesting. And highlighted the unfairness of the Games, as usual. Careers were, by proxy, more likely to get sponsors on talent alone, and on top of that they get to look better? "And the most prestigious stylist of all, Dantin Lomé? Only Victors and presenters got him…"

Lomé. I heard that name before. He was definitely famous – only the richest of the rich in the Districts could buy his stuff, and even then it was often very secondhand, if not tenthhand. Didn't stop his brand being advertised everywhere for those one in a million who did have thousands of credits.

"We're glad we didn't get your District partner, though," Summa said. They began spraying something else over my skin. It was a colour fume that seemed to dye my skin so that it appeared more olive than it already was. "Now, you're not exactly the most likeable girl of the bunch, no offence," she looked at me for a reaction. She got none. "But he _definitely_ gives me creeper vibes."

"That's because he's a creeper," I said, before being instructed to close my eyes as they sprayed the stuff over my face. The odour was so strong I could taste it, and it made me want to retch.

I was never bound to talk to Arran _much_. I didn't want to befriend my District partner. But he didn't seem talkative himself – only it wasn't that he was an introvert. I got the feeling he actually had a sociable side. It was just that he was weird.

It wasn't just his greasy dark hair or his predatory eyes. It was the dark, twisted humour he'd display on the rare occurrence he did talk. It was the way last night over dinner he made me watch as he cut into a rare steak, lick the blood off the knife and then grinned at me with bloodstained teeth afterwards.

"Well, you're done," Wynter said. They all stood back and admired their handiwork. "You know, you should smile more." I did, sarcastically, but they didn't get it. "See. Nice. You're a beautiful woman. Just show that beauty on the inside a little more."

With that they left and I was alone for a moment. I actually cherished moments where I was alone, even though I hated the loneliness of being an orphan. Solitude was short lived in the Capitol, though, and soon my main stylist was in the room with me. I supposed I'd have to get used to her. A woman who wore an… interesting, to say the least... butterfly costume strode in.

"Oh," she put her hand to her heart. "Aren't you a beauty?"

I'd never considered myself beautiful. Boys didn't pay much attention to me, either. In District Twelve it was weird for someone to compliment someone of the same gender so much, anyway. This attention was weird.

"Name's Deedri by the way! You will brim with excitement when you see what I've got in store for you, after discussing it with Arran's stylist we decided to dress you up as – you have it – a lump of coal!"

I deadpanned her.

"Not a miner? Or even just charcoal make-up or something? You're going to make me dress as a lump of coal?"

"Yes! Want to see?" I felt kind of deflated when she clapped and a wall slid aside, revealing one very frumpy outfit that would make me look more like I was a fat dark sheep than a lump of coal – not that I'd want to look like either.

"You think that looks good?" I said, my eyebrow raised.

"Oh definitely," she moved to take it out of the wardrobe. "It will really bring out your eyes. Plus it's made-"

Her sentence was halted when an alarm blazed. The light above suddenly flashed and turned a dangerous red. Deedri looked around perplexed for a moment and immediately rushed over to the wall, pressing her palm against a big red button. The sound of machinery whirring was audible.

"What just happened?" I asked.

"There's some kind of emergency," she told me.

I stood up immediately. "So shouldn't we get out of here?"

"Not the fire kind," the woman looked extremely nervous. "Right now the room we're in is disaster proof, anyway. But it can't be minor considering I wasn't called… If there's a state of emergency it means… it means someone has died."

My heart suddenly beat that little bit faster.

"Who?"

"I don't know," she admitted, fidgeting. "But we're locked in here. Only I can open the doors now, too. We should be safe. You don't mind if I contact my daughters and make sure they're okay?"

I felt for her, weirdly. And I never expected to feel for a Capitolian. I remembered what it was like to have family you looked out for. I also remembered the anguish of losing one, or thinking you'd lose one. I guess that kind of feeling was a universal human experience.

"Sure."

"And after that… we'll get you all dressed up," she smiled as she tapped her earpod. "The show must go on."

* * *

 **Rosario Vogel, District 1, 18**

I'd had _the_ most interesting experiences.

The emergency alert was almost eclipsed as the most interesting experience of the stylist process by my stylist, who moments before it went off had been trying to seduce me. Moments after putting me into my sharp, spiky, diamond studded outfit she had displayed disgusting immorality and hedonism the moment she had tried to prise me out of it.

"What are you doing?" I asked hesitantly after she complimented my beauty and began to rub my crotch in an intimate manner that made me _way_ too uncomfortable.

"Look," she put her finger on my pink lips. "It's not like most men to question what I'm about to do. Do you not find me beautiful?"

I looked up and down, inspecting her very briefly. She was certainly beautiful. But that didn't stop my protestations.

"That doesn't matter."

"Then what does?" She slipped her dress off her shoulders, letting it fall partially so that only a very skimpy bra covered her breasts. She leaned in and tried to kiss me but I turned my cheek, feeling her basically make out with my cheek with disgust. "What can I do to have you?"

"What about you makes you lose your self respect so much you want me without knowing me?" I asked her.

She pulled away, looking a little frustrated. "I try to get a Career guy every year," she told me. "Not only are they generally more attractive, but they tend to win. I like to make connections," she slipped one button on my shirt off. "Connections with powerful men. And what better way is there to connect? We can help each other out. You have no idea the sponsorships I could get you…" She basically started grinding herself on me. "You have no idea how much power turns me on."

"I don't know even know your name."

"It's Enera," she tried to kiss my neck. "Can we fuck now?"

I shoved her away forcefully this time, because she didn't seem to get the hint. "You don't get it, do you? You don't get self-respect at all? Are you a whore?" She flinched at that word as I stood up. "What you want… that? It's… it's sacrosanct and for marriage only." I shook my head seriously. "I'm going to have to say no and to tell you to get some dignity."

"W-What?" She hitched her dress back up, offended. "Are you seriously rejecting _me_?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You will regret this," she snapped. "I can make your future outfits awful. And you have no idea what sponsors I have connections with – you have no idea just how I can make or break you-"

"Better to die with dignity than live with none."

She pouted, not knowing what to say. When she did open her mouth suddenly an alarm screeched and the lights began to flash a red hue. It didn't take me a single moment to know that meant danger. I brought myself onto high alert as the alarm continued to screech. Muted under it, I heard the woman's earpod screech.

"Hello?" She listened to whatever the person on the other line had to say, and then went pale. "Fuck… What? Yes. I understand."

"What happened?" I asked her.

She was too terrified to forget her grudge. "I have to put us on lockdown," she just said, moving towards a control pad on the wall.

"Why?"

"Rebels have come in and shot at _everyone_ in the District Three room," she snapped. "They're all dead." I tried to hide the shock I felt. "And they're still on the loose."

I grabbed a pair of scissors on the styling tray before cracking my knuckles.

"Don't put us on lockdown, I'm going out there," I told her, making my way to the doorway.

"What? Are you sure?" She rushed and grabbed my arm, though I swatted her off with ease. "They have guns!"

"They're all amateurs," I told her straight. "I'm pretty sure I can handle it. Plus I'm a Career. I've made it very clear I'm happy to die for my country. Where do I find the District Three bunch?"

"Down the corridor to the left, then right, you should find it," she said, opening the door with her fingerprints. "I'm locking myself in here until the alarms stop. Good luck. Don't die."

"Oh, I won't," I smirked.

* * *

I followed her instructions and it was very easy to see what corridors the Threes were in – chairs were tipped over, bullet holes were dotted around the walls and there was a Peacekeeper lying down with blood leaking out of his head. I looked at his hands and belt immediately for guns.

None were to be found. When I looked up, I noticed the District Two boy holding an impressive looking sniper. In the background, there were the sounds of more gunshots and screaming. I heard a man howl in pain.

"District Two," I greeted the boy. He was tall, broad and athletic looking. He was also dressed in his outfit, so he looked like a District Two quarryman, only a lot more glamorous. "Where's your District partner?"

"Not a Career," he said, before clarifying. "Not a real one."

"Same as mine. The Fours are unpatriotic too, as usual," I said drily. I expected all Careers to come to the service of this great nation and die for it. "You ready to sort this out?"

"Yes," he said.

We flooded into the room quickly. The metal walls and floor were covered in blood. A few Peacekeepers and stylists lay dead, and thankfully one of the tributes lay there rocking himself as he sobbed. The Three boy. Thankfully okay.

"Where are they?" I asked, picking up a gun.

He pointed to another doorway and began to sob.

When we entered, there were more dead bodies. The doors opened so silently I don't even think the rebels, who were faced away, knew we had entered. There were three of them and they laughed as they humiliated what seemed to be the final Peacekeeper. They had stripped him of all his clothes except his helmet, and shot at his feet and laughed as he danced.

Thankfully, and weirdly coincidentally, though every single stylist and Peacekeeper in the proximity had been gunned down mercifully the Three girl was okay. _Scarily_ okay. Lower District kids were usually weak not just physically, but emotionally. Not her: she sat in the middle of her chair, where she had been styled earlier, dressed up in a dress made completely out of wires that occasionally spat out sparks. She regarded us with cool indifference.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," the Two boy said to the rebels. As they turned around, he showered them with bullets. More blood was splattered through the room and their bodies fell, smoking and torn.

"Nice one," I said indifferently. "I'm Rosario."

He held out his hand and politely shook mine. I noted his grip was a little firmer than mine. "I'm Titan."

The Three girl cried out for the first time as I felt a knife suddenly get pressed to my throat. Titan was similarly put in a compromising position. Looked like there were more than three rebels and they were preparing an ambush on any backup. I held in my breath slightly.

"You really thought that would bring us down?" He breathed rancid air right into my nostrils and I cringed. He raised his knife, ready to plunge, declaring: "Down with the Capitol!"

He was much slower than I – most rebels were, not being trained fighters and all. I immediately shoved my knife into his gut and watched as he backed away, blood spurting out of his mouth. Titan had flipped another rebel over and we both knew instinctively to rush for cover. I ducked behind a styling table and Titus a chair as bullets whizzed and pinged off metallic surfaces.

"I didn't expect the pre-Games to be of this _calibre_ ," I heard Titan joke, managing to keep scarily calm considering the situation. I would have glared at him if I could make eye contact without being shot. "We really went in with a _bang_."

I noted the remaining rebels were shooting _anywhere_ except at the Three girl, who continued to sit calmly. As if she knew she were invisible to them, she stooped down on the floor – I saw her throw something as Titan.

He reacted immediately, jumping up and shooting the rebel I had stabbed earlier in the gut. He quickly sniped two more down. He had a mightily impressive aim and I couldn't help but note that he would be a threat in the Games _and_ a useful ally – if we both survived, that is.

I didn't have time to think further as I was tackled to the floor by a rebel who was covered in blood and looked savage – we had been told the rebels were savages, but I didn't expect them to be this maddened, this feral. He desperately tried to bite at my throat, shouting crazed expletives as he tried to murder me.

I didn't need a weapon. My diamond covered outfit was a weapon in itself, with stalactite shaped jags protruding from the sleeves and the trousers. It made moving incredibly difficult, but it meant I was _wearing_ a weapon. Almost indifferently, I shoved my elbow towards the man's throat.

The many spiked diamonds slipped into his throat, ripping through his windpipe and staining my sleeve with droplets of blood so that diamonds looked like rubies. Immediately shoving him aside before his blood could soil my suit further, I watched uncaringly as he lay on the floor choking before he finally went limp.

That was it. That was my first kill. I had been trained to kill but unlike District Two we were never forced to _actually_ kill before. This was my first taste of it. And considering my first taste was watching a scumbag and traitor slowly suffer and become nothing, I had to admit I quite liked it.

There were more gunshots heard and I flinched.

"Intercepted! Intercepted!" I heard an authoritative voice cry. There was a howl of pain and more chaos and noise ensued. I kept myself snug under cover for a while before there was silence.

"Rosario Vogel, District One?" A silver visor stared down at me. A Peacekeeper.

"At your service," I stood up. All of the rebels were dead. The Peacekeeper they had taunted earlier had unfortunately joined them, still and naked, terrified eyes staring right at me. Of those who had been in the room earlier only me, Titan and the Three girl were alive. She looked calm as she was being inspected for injury by Peacekeepers. I don't think she had any.

"It's not your duty to do our jobs," the man said sternly as he noted the corpse on the floor. My dirty work. He turned his gaze back to me. "Is there anything you need to go to the medical bay for?"

I watched as Titan was escorted out of the room. He was limping, so it looked like he had been shot. He seemed to be taking it well.

"No," I said. "My suit is stained, though," I showed him the blooded diamonds, though I think I wanted to keep the mess. It would keep those watching interested.

"Twenty casualties, including twelve men down," I heard a Peacekeeper behind speak into a walkie talkie. "I repeat, twenty casualties including twelve men down."

"I've never seen anything like this," another Peacekeeper approached the one who was addressing me and muttered, though I could hear. "And right in the remake centre while tributes are in it. We were told the Threes were dead, too. This is going to cause a shitshow like we've never seen."

"You should go," the Peacekeeper ignored his contemporary, glancing at me. "Back to where you are. You'll be given further instruction."

I nodded and set off, but not before regarding the Three girl. She was small, with dark skin, a young face, curly hair and wise eyes. She was being interrogated but managed to glance at me. When I smiled at her and gave a brief thumbs up, she smiled back out of politeness.

I stormed back towards my own styling quarters. It was interesting, saving a girl who I would later kill – and because of her competent demeanour I pledged to myself that I would kill her. I found out today murder wasn't something that weighed down on my conscience much.

We couldn't have the rebels snatch the fruits of my labour from me now, could we?

* * *

 **It's only been a year and a half! So I'm guessing everything is a little different around here. Are SYOT's still a thing? Is** _ **Hunger Games**_ **fanfiction still a thing?**

 **I'm really sorry I've been gone this long. Very very very brief summary - personal life stuff kicked in and I basically stopped doing** _ **everything**_ **(I hope I never get to that place, emotionally, again). Then when I felt ready to hop into life I really hopped in, got incredibly busy, and hopefully now I have time to commit to this again.**

 **I make no illusions: a lot of readers are probably gone. And knowing I was exciting people every week was a lot of what motivated me. I hope a few of you are still around, but I'm determined to finish this. I have the ideas to write three more – but this may be the last one. But it will definitely be completed, even if I get another review again.**

… **So, hi? Someone say hi? Someone review? Plz?**

 _ **~Toxic**_


	8. The Hand That Feeds

**Francine Thales-Wren, District 3, 13**

Well that was one hundred percent, certifiably crazy.

One second I was being ushered into an uncomfortable dress made completely of wires with the gimmick of occasionally sparking. The next minute there were gunshots and I heard my District partner give out a terrified scream.

Before my stylist could even lock our door, the rebels were in and he had been gunned down. Then they continued to find and slaughter any Peacekeeper or the minor stylists in the area. I'd led a sheltered life, so it was far and away the most terrifying experience of my life. Yet I remained calm and composed in the face of adversity, and I was alive because of it.

Or potentially I wasn't. I liked to think of myself as observant, even when the adrenaline was pumping. And I definitely noticed that this bunch had definitely avoided killing me. It wasn't that I was invisible – it was like I had repelled them by instinct, like they physically could not bear to put their gun's aim on me. Judging by the fact my District partner was still alive, I assumed the case was the same for him.

Was it because we were tributes, and they saw us an innocents? Potentially. But when the two Career boys, Titan and Rosario, burst in before the backup Peacekeepers calmed the situation they were quick to shoot at them. Maybe that was because they were Careers, and not innocents.

But even then, something wasn't _right._ Their demeanour wasn't right. It was like they were drunk or high – certainly not sober – but had kept their composure in spite of that.

I remained sat down. Peacekeepers were still on the scene, and some investigative ones were investigating bodies and collecting evidence. Soon enough, a figure I expected to arrive did and two I didn't accompanied him. Our escort, Marukilla, came with the Head and Deputy Gamemaker on either side.

He rushed over to me and hugged me.

"Are you okay?"

"I think so," I said calmly. I noticed in his grip that I had been shaking slightly.

"We heard from witnesses that you slipped the gun to the Two boy and helped him fight!" He beamed at me proudly. I glanced at Tobias, who was looking nervous. Ruth looked resolute. "It makes you officially a hero. When this is leaked to the press you have no idea just how much sponsorship money you are going to reap in."

I'd never thought of it that way. That was definitely a bonus, having more sponsorship money than the other tributes – though I figured Rosario and Titan would still collect significantly more. Still, I was tiny, not even five feet, so no matter how intelligent I was extra funds were welcomed.

"We won't have it that way," Tobias said to Marukilla. "We don't want anything leaking to the press. They've been taken down and I asked Manny to up security. The President is making a public statement and giving his condolences now, but he has already invested another hundred million credits into security."

A Peacekeeper who heard Tobias cleared his throat, and rose from the corpse he was inspecting.

"With all due respect Sir, twenty are dead. This is the most significant terrorist attack in the Capitol in a decade. This is going to be the most newsworthy event this year-"

"No, the Games will," Tobias said. He turned to me, placing a comforting arm on my shoulder. "You gave a statement to the Peacekeepers?" I nodded.

"Is it the Liberal Alliance?" I asked. Tobias and Ruth looked at each other, not used to the name of the main rebel faction being mentioned so casually. I had very little time for taboo.

"All evidence points to it, yes," Ruth said with pursed lips. "We can't think of any other humans scummy enough to commit such an atrocity. They tried to kill children. _Children_." I was no anti-Capitolite, but I almost picked Ruth up on two things: thing one, they definitely did not try to kill me. Thing two, the Capitol was going to kill me anyway. Cognitive dissonance was an interesting phenomenon, but Ruth's problem with rebels was very well documented, even though everybody she ever loved was rumoured to be a rebel. Somehow, she blamed the rebels for their conversions and deaths.

The things you heard when your family were rich, influential munitions producers who had close access to the Capitol's inner circles…

Still, I winced when I saw my stylist be taken out in a body bag, his limp arm and manicured nails still visible as it drooped. I may not have seen the Capitol as the most logical institution, but unlike the rebels it was a sane one that gave a sense of authority and stability. The rebels seemed to plan only anarchy and death. You wouldn't see me going on a justice rampage anytime soon.

Although being in the Games had made me question this outlook significantly. My parents owned Thales-Wren industries, an industry that virtually propped up the Capitol in many respects. So entwined were they to the Capitol and President that District Three's rebels, before they were intercepted and virtually eliminated, had planned to bomb their factories. They had bombed some of our offices last year during the great strike, the events that led to their downfall, but thankfully there were no casualties there.

I don't know if that made the Capitol more twisted, killing some of their close producers' or allies' children, or if it made them just in the coldest, most sociopathic way. It didn't matter who I was beyond what District I was in. Everyone in the Districts were fair games, easy pickings for the Capitol…

Wanting to distract myself from the demoralising train of thought, I slipped off the chair and stood up.

"So what next? Our stylist is dead…"

"Yes," Ruth sighed. "You'll have a new one before the interviews come around. I suppose the only thing left to do is to take you into the stables. You have your dress and the show must go on."

"Cool," I watched as Marukilla instructed a few Peacekeepers to escort me.

"Wear it with pride," Ruth instructed me, her voice cracking with emotion. "Sascha and Sario were District Three's stylists. They were good people. Sario was considered to be an upcoming icon, soon to be the greatest stylist in Panem, greater than Lomé and Prussel."

The names meant nothing to me, which was funny because I was probably one of the few in my District who could even comprehend buying their stuff.

"And Sascha was a mother. A wife. A daughter. As you can imagine, we'll be sending out a lot of condolences tonight."

"Send mine," I said, feeling a little awkward. I didn't like talking feelings. When talking in terms of utility, logic and pragmatism, I was confident. But this was a different plane and one I found more difficult to comprehend.

The Peacekeepers escorted me away, and soon I was reunited with Syncis. Syncis was… interesting. I felt awful for him because his death wasn't just extremely likely – it was inevitable. Since the Reaping, all he had done was cry and mumble to himself. He didn't seem to comprehend or understand the situation he was in.

Since he had seen people gunned down right in front of him, he had broken down even more. He refused to walk and just sobbed and stared ahead emptily as Peacekeepers dragged him effortlessly beside me, making sure his outfit didn't brush the floor and get dirtied, even though the marble beneath seemed spotless.

* * *

When we arrived at the stables, it seemed like many of the tributes had already been let out. I expected the mood to be sombre – after all, twenty-five out of twenty-six of us were all going to die, but the tension and fear filled the air like a particularly deadly nerve agent considering four of us had a very close brush with death before the gong had rung out.

Syncis was thrown onto his chariot, and he immediately curled up on it. I approached our horse, patting its mane and looking at him pitifully. The fact he didn't seem all up there in the head also meant unless I had an alliance I was going to have a very lonely pre-Games.

I made eye contact with the Two boy, who thankfully seemed to only have a short trip to the medical wing. He rubbed the back of his head and gave a thumbs up at me. I was initially shocked, and felt awkward interacting with a Career who could break my neck in a split second, but decided to hesitantly reciprocate.

"No Mara, no Mara, no Mara, no," Syncis sobbed. I'd learned to ignore him by this point.

"We were told you were dead," a feminine voice said behind me. It sounded assertive, but also had warmth to it.

I turned around and faced a very attractive girl who was about half a foot taller than me, with noticeable red hair, hazel eyes and full lips. My type of girl, if I was confident enough to go for girls. But even with my capital I felt too awkward to go for girls. Or guys. Or anyone.

Her body wasn't very curvy, but her seaweed crafted dress managed to accentuate what was there pretty well. Only a Career stylist could make seaweed look attractive.

"Well," I stuttered a bit. "I-I-I suppose the physical evidence suggests otherwise."

"I shouldn't say this, because if you'd died that's one less person I have to worry about," the Four girl offered me her hand. "But I'm glad you're okay. My name is Lillee."

I regarded her friendliness with a level of suspicion. Rosario and Titan, Careers, seemed nice enough, but I knew that was just manners. They wouldn't hesitate to kill me and showed no desire to have a more interpersonal connection. This girl seemed different.

"Call me Frankie," I shook her hand.

"Frankie," she smiled and glanced at Syncis. "And he is?"

Syncis' eyes widened and he cowered. "I'm scum. I'm scum, I'm scum, I'm scum!"

"He's Syncis," I told her before saying more quietly: "He's not all there in the head, y'know?"

"Oh, okay," Lillee looked at him sadly, clearly disgusted that he was in the situation he was in. "Poor guy. There's no point talking to my District partner either. Unless you want to be sexually assaulted," she looked at my wire-laced dress up and down. "Even then, you're so young and tiny. I'm sure his standards aren't that low. I have to say, for a thirteen year old that just witnessed a huge terrorist incident you're reasonably calm."

"I guess it's shock," I lied. "I wouldn't have gotten out of there if it weren't for your Career pals," I turned to look at Rosario in his diamond studded suit and Titus in his quarryman outfit that accentuated his muscles. I had to admit, Careers were always so attractive. "They seem like good guys."

Lillee snorted. "Why do I doubt that?"

"They're your teammates," I grinned and slowly turned to face her. "Or is there something you're not telling me?"

Lillee opened her mouth to speak, but then seemed to decide that wasn't worth it. I watched as she made her way back to her chariot. The Careers were a very interesting bunch, and although I didn't buy into stereotypes I found it interesting how humanised they already were to me. But I had become good at switching my feelings off when it was necessary.

I struggled to lift myself back up into my own chariot, and sat down next to Syncis.

"I don't feel bad for people often," I turned to face him. "But I feel bad for you. If something's up, you can tell me. I'll help you through this."

He looked at me fearfully, but his features softened a little bit.

"I have no idea what's happening and I'm scared," he whispered. "I just want my parents back."

"I know that feeling," I sighed. I missed both of mine so, so much. "Do you have anyone else? Friends?" I watched as that concept seemed to float over his head. "What about siblings?"

The trigger word made him immediately jolt into life. He defensively turned around from me.

"No, no, no, they're always with me, they need to go away… they need to go away…"

I didn't know what he meant by that. But then again, it was clear he was mentally distressed. I didn't want to pry, either. I awkwardly touched his shoulder and patted it a few times, but once that didn't work I put my hands on my lap and looked ahead resolutely.

The gates in front suddenly seemed to open slightly, taking me by surprise. Considering what had happened I thought there would be a delay or something. Looks like the Gamemakers were eager for things to get back into motion.

Screams of Capitolians were deafening and I was greeted by light, noise, excitement, enthusiasm, cheer and music.

"Panem, meet this year's tributes like you've never seen them before!"

* * *

 **Xavier Day, District 5, 18**

I hadn't spoken much to my District partner, Alina. But she seemed nice enough. When she was alone she'd cry, though when she was with me she would be more resolute and polite. Despite her boyish hairdo, she didn't seem physically imposing or intimidating. I liked her.

As the chariots jolted into motion she did something interesting, though. She stood up and looked behind the both of us, craning her neck in search of something particular.

"What are you doing?" I asked her.

"Looking for the Thirteens," she said. She sat down again when her quest seemed futile. "I can see the Twelves but I can't see the Thirteens-"

"What makes you so curious?"

"What makes you?" Alina looked at me. "You've not spoken once since we were reaped."

"I keep myself to myself," I said. "You'll learn that's the best way as you get ol-" I paused. The problem was, she wouldn't get older. Because of the godawful fucking Hunger Games.

"As I'll get older?" Alina gave a miserable smile. "I hope I do."

So did I, so did I. None of us deserved this. But the Capitol was happy to do it anyway.

"I heard rumours from my stylists about the Thirteen tributes," Alina said to me. "They were very talkative."

"What rumours?"

"I can't tell, they'd get sacked… or worse…"

"Do I seem like a blab to you?" I wasn't. When you were a rebel, you learned loose lips sank ships very quickly. That still wasn't enough to stop information from leaking and from District Five's rebels being totally eliminated – which was the very reason I was here.

"Well, the rumours were that they were going on a separate route…" Interesting. Very interesting.

"They are going to be treated differently to us. They're the whipping boys now."

"It's kind of unfair, don't you think? We're not responsible for what our ancestors did two-hundred years ago," we weren't – but if we were I'd be proud. I was proud of the Districts' legacy of rebellion and standing up to the Capitol. "And they're not responsible for what happened."

"How do you know? That war was pretty brutal," I should know – I helped smuggle intel and weapons to District Thirteen officials. "They're also not like us Panemians, they're all one unit, very collective."

"A bit like our District," Alina said. I nodded. I liked District Five's hive like nature – we were all put close together and spent most of our time in the same labyrinthine apartments, schools, offices… "My mum said District Five is special because we're all one big family. You saw how we reacted to Rayann's plight. I wonder if they're the same."

"Maybe."

"Plus we're still whipping boys."

"Huh?" I glanced at her.

"We still have to… have to do _this_ ," she said cynically. "We're still going to die." Her voice cracked a little bit but I knew she wasn't stupid enough to let herself cry in front of an audience at this crucial moment. "We're still whipping boys. It's still so, so unfair."

I tried to distract her. After all, she was a Five girl. One of my own. "What do you do back at home?"

She began tapping her foot nervously. "I mean, I go to school and stuff. I'm a mechanic. My family needs the money."

"Nice, that'll help you out in the arena," I smiled, trying to provoke optimism. In reality, it kind of hurt my face a little. I hadn't smiled in a long, long time. "Siblings?"

"No. I have a dog."

"I like dogs."

"So do I." There was a moment of silence as we drew closer and closer to the gates. To the cheering crowds. District One and Two, from what I could see, already seemed to be in the limelight. Alina spoke quietly: "You're a cool guy, Xavier."

Before I could speak I was interrupted by the Capitol's favourite voice, Leein Malpin, a voice that had announced hundreds of unjust deaths through the course of his worthless career:

"And here's District One," he said. "Rumours had it that at today's attack the District One boy had helped stop the treacherous terrorists." There were loud shrieks of appreciation that made Alina wince. "And he's looking very dashing and imposing in his spiky diamond suit. His District Partner, Jordyn, also looking great but unsure of herself there in her stalactite dress."

A pause.

"Interesting observation coming in from viewers that Rosario has some blood on his sleeve," I assumed cameras were honing in on it. "And he does. Is that the blood of the terrorists?"

"It's scary that the rebels did that," Alina shivered. "I used to think they were the good guys. Seems like nobody is good anymore."

I didn't say anything, for obvious reasons.

"Here we have the District Two tributes, dressed as quarrymen. Titan Bard was also rumoured to have helped stopped the rebel menace that almost killed our District Three tributes today and ended twenty innocent lives," even louder cheers than the ones Rosario received erupted. I grabbed onto the edge of the chariot, clenching my fist with so much fury I felt the wood crack beneath. Alina regarded me with some fear.

"Very dashing. His District Partner, Agrippa Wilder, does not look very amused," Leein laughed. "Perhaps she is not comfortable with her cleavage being on show for all of Panem to see?"

District Four was now out of the stables and headed right towards the tributes quarters and training centre, a large towering skyscraper that seemed to shoot right into the clouds. I looked at it with awe. As much as I hated the Capitol, they certainly impressed me.

"District Three," that was immediately greeted by applause so loud it reminded me of roaring thunder. "Boy oh boy are we glad to see them! They certainly look like they've gone through the mill. But how wonderful is Syncis Allomoi's suit and Francine Thales-Wren's dress? All made out of wire, all releasing the kind of sparks we hope to see fly in the arena. The last creation of Sario Aeryn and Sascha Li. They will be truly, truly missed."

"I still can't believe they did that," Alina swallowed nervously. "The rebels."

Neither could I. Something just seemed up about it. I worked with them for a whole two years - I fought with them. There were so many reasons I suspected that this was all Capitol propaganda that the rebels couldn't and wouldn't do this.

For one, they were historically at their weakest since the crushing of the rebellion. Those that hadn't been wiped out were in hiding or had fled Panem altogether. How was it possible for them to not just have the means to attack a highly secure Capitolian location, but how did they even get in? Even at our strongest I doubt we could have breached that level of security without severe aid and sacrifice from our espionage units. With Commander Virtage fleeing to District Four and with Commander Pierce exposed and killed, we had no spies in the Capitol.

Secondly, even if we could, just why would we attack the remake centre? We weren't beyond accepting there would be unintended death and pain… that innocents had to be sacrificed for the greater good. But we didn't target innocents – not District Three tributes. Every attack also had a strategic purpose. Why would we attack the remake centre? As newsworthy a headline as it would generate, what did the rebels stand to gain from attacking the place where tributes would be done up? Would their economy and military be weakened if tributes' outfits were a bit off?

"This is all bullshit," I mumbled to myself.

"What?" Alina turned, not catching what I said.

She was interrupted by our chariot leaving the stable. Suddenly I could see all the Capitolites: an iridescent sea of powdered faces, of screaming fans, of cameras pointed our way and flashing lights that twinkled in the distance. Some were cheering my name.

On the screen in front of me I could see the District Four tributes as focus came onto them: the Career girl wore a dress made of seaweed that, from what I understood about fashion which wasn't much, looked good. The Four boy was wearing a tunic of it that seemed specifically designed to expose his body. That couldn't be pleasant – it was chilly. He seemed unperturbed though, and waved enthusiastically to the crowd and blew kisses at all the ladies he could see.

"Here we have our Four tributes Yveaux Hathers and Lillee Duraton," Leein announced proudly. "Don't they look great? Yveaux is certainly enjoying himself, he really appreciates his fanbase! Lillee is acting much more moderately but it is clear she knows how to work a crowd. It looks like great things lie ahead for District Four."

Our turn.

Not much scared me. Death definitely didn't – that's why I had joined the rebellion. But there was something about the limelight, of every eye knowingly being on me, which made my stomach somersault and my throat threaten to burn with bile. I belonged in the shadows by nature.

So when I looked up and saw myself on screen I couldn't help but wince. I hated the way I looked. I'd always had a playground bully vibe about me, which I liked to think didn't translate into my actual personality: though I wasn't brimming with muscle I was tall, somewhat broad, with harsh features, a broad nose, a strong jawline and harsh eyes. Next to Alina, with her tomboyish innocence, I felt like this impression was further solidified.

"Here we have Xavier Day and Alina Parrish of District Five," Leein Malpin told the audience. They were cheering for me – because it was thousands of people, in unison, it was still deafening and made me feel like a deer in the headlights, but I noted that it was the mildest applause anybody on the chariots had received yet. I tore my face away from the large projectors, which had zoomed in on my face for the whole country to see, looking nervously at my hands. "We know from her Reaping Alina has a lot at stake. Her District partner is more mysterious. Just who is Xavier Day? All we know is he looks tough and may have an impressive Games ahead."

At least our outfits were good – or Alina remarked that they did. We wore your traditional suit-dress getup, but it was covered in radioactive symbols and glowed a warm green hue. A nod to District Five's history as a major energy producer, though we only had one nuclear plant in the whole District which probably meant that even if nuclear power could stereotypically be associated with District Five we weren't huge producers of it. District Three apparently had two. From what I'd heard, the Capitol and District Thirteen had dozens.

I felt something clasp my hand and I reacted instinctively, hating the sensation of physical contact, trying to swat it away. I glanced at the perpetrator.

"What are you doing?" I said to a smiling Alina.

"I hate this just as much as you do," she said. "Just follow my lead."

I did. And I wouldn't regret it. She clasped my hand and raised it, leading the audience to cheer even more – in a way that wasn't contrived, in a way that had made me feel _liked_ for the first time since I had spent over a year in a damp, isolated prison cell. The rush I felt, the content with all eyes being on me, was strange.

She bowed and jerked at my arm a little, leading me to follow her lead. The Capitolians seemed to eat it up.

"And the Fives are showing their appreciation for the Capitol! The audience _loves_ them!"

I rose, laughing. Alina was laughing too.

"Are we looking at future allies… or more?"

"Ha! No way!" Alina glanced at me. "No offence."

"If I _wanted_ to kiss you right now, I would," I told her, still somewhat high from the adrenaline rush. "No, seriously – that was brilliant. I think you've literally just bagged us some sponsors."

"I hope so," she smiled. The screen showed the District Six tributes – I think they were being cheered on solely for the Six girl, her name echoed through the air as fans of her book waved it around. Though both were quiet, I could tell she was enjoying it while her District partner was not. Though both of them carried an awkwardness to them, and it showed in their outfits – they were dressed up to look like trains, though the attire was clunky. It steamed on occasion, which I supposed was a good gimmick.

That's what this all was. A gimmick. Even Alina and I's behaviour. I glanced at her again, just once, with a level of suspicion. I couldn't let myself get caught in their mindgames, their artificial parade which was dressed up psychological warfare. I knew if I did, I would come to regret it.

* * *

 **Perseverance Bright, District 7, 16**

"And from District Seven we have Perseverance Bright and Tamal Arbor!"

I promised myself I wouldn't get wrapped up in how wonderful the pre-Games were – all the food, the fashion, the beauty, the marvel and the show of it all. But the moment I saw myself in my outfit I knew that I was going to fall in love with the very thing that was trying to kill me.

They had dressed me up as some kind of wood nymph: I saw myself on the screens that were projected to help Capitolians get a bigger view of us. My body, despite not being the feminine ideal, looked nice in my leafy dress. The make-up I had been given enhanced my features, and the flower crown around my hairline really complimented my ashy blonde hair.

District Seven was infamous for having their fair share of bad stylists – paper dresses and clunky tree outfits came to mind, and unfortunately to everyone's eyes, often – but this was a very nice change of style. Even Tamal looked cute. He wasn't my type: my type was very masculine and rough around the edges, which I would never use to describe Tamal, but his leafy tunic and flower crown really suited him – made him seem elven, almost.

"Don't they look good dressed up as mythical District Seven wood nymphs?"

I waved enthusiastically at the crowd, feeling an excitement I'd never felt before when I saw some of them were waving banners with my name on or placards with my face on. This is what it felt like to be revered for being a warrior, like those of legends felt. It was phenomenal.

Even Tamal, usually shy and fragile, seemed to be caught up in it all: he wasn't quite as feckless as I thought he would be when he shakily made his way into the chariot, though he wasn't half as enthusiastic or zesty as I was. Still, he sat down in his chariot and smiled meekly as he waved to the adoring Capitolites.

Segrun, my mentor, had always told me the importance of humility. Fame and popularity were the most deadly of drugs, she warned. But almost all of us were being caught up in it all. Perhaps, I pondered, the covertness and universality of it all was what made it so deadly.

But while I promised myself there would be no distractions I couldn't scold myself for this. In fact, it was beneficial. I had to get out of these Games alive – I volunteered for them. Though I could embrace the prospect of an honourable death, the death of a warrior, the finiteness of it all was terrifying. I would do everything I could to live.

That meant giving the Capitolian sponsors exactly what they wanted so they could give me the supplies I needed. That meant looking good, being proud of that fact and showing the Capitol my enthusiasm and appreciation. In enjoying what could be my final moments before the brutality began, which was no sin in and of itself, that is what I was doing – right?

As soon as the attention was off me and on the Eights – Batiste and Arabella – I began to overthink. I couldn't let self-doubt stop me. And yet it was the fiercest opponent of all, striking in the dark, when it was inconvenient and unexpected.

A year ago, I made the stupid, rash decision to out my family's religious community to the Head Peacekeeper's son. We were Aesists. We believed in forgiveness, of sacrifice and of the Nine Noble Virtues – most crucially, we believed in the way of the warrior. But unlike so many other religions, we did not pledge our allegiance to the state. We were effectively a banned religion. I didn't comprehend this until it was too late.

"It's not gone well for the District Eights this year, has it?" I heard Leein say, though I didn't pay attention to what they were doing. "After a humiliating Reaping they have had an even more humiliating chariot ride, with Batiste tripping. It's hard to be enthusiastic about tributes that are dressed up as spindles, either, is it? We're expecting some stylist demotions this year!"

We could only survive by pooling our resources together as a community and winning over the Head Peacekeeper with bribes. Segrun, the leader of the Aesists, made it clear that we Aesists always found a way to survive. But now survival had a heavier cost, it was either that or comply to the Nystalgian regime, which we weren't prepared to do at the cost of our gods.

I felt like a pariah in the community that I had been born and raised in. The community I loved. I would die for my gods and my people – and that was what I was prepared to do and prepared to display. To ultimately overcome the shame I had brought to my family.

Aesim had always revered the warrior, and the warrior's path, and those who die in battle most of all. That's why we often churned out Peacekeepers of our own – both Home and Foreign legion. It's why I had an innate respect for anyone who was prepared to die for what they loved – whether that be a country, a religion, a conviction. I respected both Peacekeeper and Rebel alike. I respected the Careers, even.

Apparently, a century or so ago, Aesists had considered starting their own group of Careers, though disagreements with the actual Games themselves had led the idea to be quickly quashed. Segrun herself expressed displeasure for them on multiple occasions.

But the point still stood: the way of the Warrior was always respected. And what better way to prove myself to this community than to die for it, or to win the highest honour of Panem and shower those I owed so much with wealth and gold?

"Of District Nine we have Silas Calder and Tesni Rosette," Leein announced. "They seem likable enough. They seem to be enjoying themselves. But will it be enough to distract from the fact that their outfit is supposed to resemble… corn? Corn? Really? Well, I believe that's better than a spindle."

I glanced at Tamal and gave him a self-assuring smile. He returned it, his mind obviously wandering elsewhere too.

I couldn't help but wonder, even though I had prepared and trained for these Games for a whole _year,_ if I was combatting a rash and foolish decision I made with another rash and foolish decision.

When I told my family, Segrun, my friends, my community… at first they didn't take me seriously but held some respect for my dedication to redeem myself. This respect was what motivated me to carry on, to volunteer for these Games. But when on Reaping Day I actually volunteered…

It wasn't that they were angry. It wasn't even that they were upset – or upset with me, anyway. As the Justice Building was flooded with members of my community who hugged me goodbye, I noticed that they all had tremendous respect for my courage. But there was an identical, unnerving expression in all of their eyes: fear.

Even Segrun looked scared. I'd never seen her look scared before, and that scared me.

"District Ten's Lillian Collier and Raleigh Everett impress with their scarecrow outfits," Leein's voice knocked me out of my train of thought again. I looked at the projected screen, seeing the red haired girl and her bemused District partner dressed up as scarecrows. Somehow, despite the fact straw leaked from their outfits and they wore funny hats, they didn't look too bad. Eventually, they seemed to get a grip of what the Capitol wanted from them, and hesitantly began to wave.

I looked out at the crowds once again. There must have been thousands of people looking out at me. And on television? Well, the camera, other than when it occasionally showed aerial shots of all of the chariots, was transfixed on the Tens, ready to pan to the Elevens. But there were millions and millions of people watching.

I continued to put up a courteous act, just in case the crowd surrounding were still paying attention. I blew kisses at a little girl who seemed eager to get my attention, shocking her so much she released a green balloon with the Panemian logo on it.

"It's all kind of overwhelming, isn't it?" Tamal said, mirroring me and shyly gesturing to anyone who seemed keen to grab his notice. "The shouts… the people… the faces.. the music… the lights…"

"It's fine," I said. "You might as well get used to it… the fame. It's your fate now."

"Maybe," Tamal sat back down and look up at me as my cheeks began to hurt from smiling and hands from waving. I (hardy har) persevered. "Or maybe not. I might not live long to see how famous I actually get. And most of us get forgotten amongst the sea of endless victims anyway."

"I'm going to make sure that doesn't happen. If I die, I'm going out in an honourable way. Like a hero-" I corrected myself. "A warrior."

"District Eleven! The tributes this year are Florian Flax and Raiyah Crahn!" I looked up at the screen to see the Elevens had probably had the worst outfits of all: he was a bunch of grapes, she a peach. Her face, unlike her District partner's, was distinctive and had a mystique to it, particularly in her contoured orange makeup, so perhaps she pulled it off in the Capitol's eyes.

Still, I cringed internally for them, and judging by the complete lack of enthusiasm I think they weren't happy with their outfits either. It's almost like their stylist dismissed them as a Bloodbath so put no effort in for their huge wage.

… I supposed that was probably true, and a common occurrence. Maybe that's why good impressions at the Reaping mattered, because you had only very limited influence on your chariot impressions.

As if keen to get off the District Eleven's, the camera panned onto District Twelve. Ahead, many of the chariots were already pulling into the city's main square, where the President would give his speech from the infamous balcony where the Games officially began as the President made his speech and ended when the Victor made theirs from the same spot.

"District Twelve, well, well, well…" There was a chuckle. "Dressed up as lumps of coal. That must be pretty humiliating. Oh! Oh! And the tributes are not taking their experience well."

I had to crane my neck to catch one of the screens: the Twelve girl, the sister of last year's Twelve boy, was spitting towards the Capitolian audience. I winced. It gave her a strong impression but not a good one. The Twelve boy ripped off his frumpy outfit, looking similarly peeved. I couldn't hear what he said but he mouthed something as he threw it into the audience.

There were cheers and Peacekeepers had to rush to stop Capitolians from killing each other – probably literally – to get their hands on the outfit. I think the Twelve boy did what he did as a huge middle finger to the Capitol, but the audience cheered and didn't seem to interpret it that way. They took it as a compliment.

Now he was only in his undergarments in the cold night, with his lips pouted and his arms folded. Oh well – tributes had been less dressed before. I noted that he looked quite strong and intimidating, when he wasn't with a huge mock lump of coal made out of dyed cotton.

"Oh dear," Tamal said, watching the drama unfold.

"Oh dear indeed," I smirked, finding the situation slightly funny.

I continued to watch the Diorite girl try to pick fights with any Capitolians she saw booing at her – which was basically all of them. The boos that filled the air made me wince. But before I could watch events unfold further I was almost thrown aside as our chariot made its way into the main city square.

Sitting down, I decided to make myself comfortable for the President's speech.

"Huh, I almost forgot about the Thirteens," Tamal said as our horses all stopped around the perimeter. We were wedged between the Sixes and the Sevens, who were only just parking. "I still haven't adjusted to them being here… But they're not here…"

A sinister aura filled the air. It felt as if the area had gotten slightly colder, even. I glanced up at the President who sat on the balcony next to his wife, who looked disinterested as he whispered into the President of Romantia's ear.

Eventually all of the chariots had stopped. The music and cheers that filled the air seemed to stop in a split second, its ghost still in the air, its memory still humming in my ear. I swallowed nervously as the President stood up to address the crowd, knowing that whatever happened next was _not_ going to be fun.

* * *

 **Silas Calder, District 9, 16**

"I… I don't understand…" Tesni started, looking around the proximity for the missing District Thirteen chariot.

"Shush," I said nervously. It felt so quiet that the whole Capitol would hear the slightest whisper, and I knew my country well enough to know that the President was going to give us all the answers we wanted. Sadly, I also got a very strong impression that I didn't want to know what those answers were.

"Welcome, welcome," the President chuckled and smiled warmly to us. The kind of warmth that made everything around you seem frosty cold. "Another set of tributes. Another year. Another Games."

The Capitolian audience cheered raucously but every single one of us looked at him with nothing to say. In the corner of my eye I even glanced to the Career chariots – with the exception of the One boy, they looked somewhat ashen and nervous for what was to come. The Four girl, however, looked absolutely furious.

"This year marks change and new arrivals. First, I am proud to welcome President Blidka," he gestured to the bespectacled, pot bellied man with solid and serious features stood and bowed. The Capitol audience did not react at first, but with the lift of a finger it was as if something in them was triggered and they cheered him on. The President continued: "After centuries of complete isolation, followed by decades of tension and hostility, I am glad the both of us can work together to bring prosperity not just to Panem, not just to Romantia, but to the entire world."

The cheers continued for a good three minutes. I remained frozen still like a statue, observing every little movement or hint the President made and occasionally casting glances at other tributes. Beside me, Tesni fidgeted nervously with the artificial corn dress she wore.

"And secondly… I am proud to welcome a revolutionary change to the Hunger Games themselves," choreographed spotlights began dancing around in the air as a loud drumbeat built up tension. The President announced: "District Thirteen!"

The cheering was quickly replaced by booing. Tesni and I exchanged nervous glances and looked around for the Thirteen tributes but they were nowhere to be seen. Eventually, some of the tributes got the memo and turned around to the long road we had been paraded through. Tesni followed suit – and when I saw her expression I knew she saw something I couldn't ignore.

I turned, slowly, hesitantly, and saw the District Thirteen tributes emerge from the stables. They were a dot in the distance so I instead focused my gaze at the wide projectors, seeing what the audience at home – including in District Thirteen itself – now saw.

The Thirteens had _nothing_ on. They were completely naked. I saw the girl, tears streaming down her face as she desperately covered her crotch with one arm and her breasts with another. The boy sat down on the chariot, legs folded one another as he tried to curl up into his own shell.

That wasn't even the worst thing. Their carriages weren't drawn by horses, they were being drawn by men, women and _children_ who wore orange jumpsuits, strained as they dragged the carriage forwards by leather reigns. If any of them stopped for a moment, they were whipped harshly by Peacekeepers who traipsed along the sidelines.

"A-Are they prisoners?" Tesni said, shocked.

"Political prisoners," I nodded, feeling disgust for the Capitol bloom inside me once again.

"Do you ever… e-ever sometimes think life is shit, and then realise that it could be so, so much worse?"

I looked at Tesni, eyebrow raised. Since I had known her she had kept herself to herself, and any attempt I made to build a rapport led to me being brushed off or dismissed. I guess in her shock and horror Tesni had forgotten her inhibitions – today was also the first time I had heard her speak at a volume above a whisper.

"Yes," I said. Today was definitely one of those days. Life in District Nine could be hard, but I had a loving family, friends and a girlfriend that I cherished. Now I was in a fight to death. And there were rebels that had tried to probably attack and kill me… And there was this horror show.

The prisoners dragging along the carriage where the naked Thirteens stood wasn't the worst bit. At the back of the carriage multiple corpses were attached to the carriage in iron chains, they were dragged down the road slowly, leaving a trail of blood in their wake.

Tesni's eyes widened. I can tell she'd never seen death in real life before – she had that sheltered vibe. I had seen public executions. Still, this wasn't easy watching.

"W-What? A-Are they… dead bodies?"

I just nudged her to keep quiet, my head bowed as I looked anywhere except at the horrific scene.

The Capitol continuing booing and jeering. Then, all in unison, they seemed to rummage into their bags where they removed rotten fruit and vegetables. I had a feeling they knew that this was coming, that they were sold these goods by the Capitol to throw, though it was one horrific surprise for us. Every time I glanced at the crowd they were throwing _tonnes_ of the stuff at the corpses, at the prisoners who dragged the carriage and at the Thirteen tributes themselves, who had completely resigned to their fate.

It took twenty minutes for the prisoners to drag the carriage into the centre of the square – right in the centre. It was an excruciating twenty minutes, and though the crowds were more engaged than ever in their hatred every single one of the tributes were deadly silent. The Thirteens weren't stopped in the perimeter of the square like the rest of us, but in the centre.

I looked anywhere but towards the Thirteens. I felt uncomfortable for them, especially the girl, having their buttocks exposed for the nation to see. I didn't like the look of the shot up corpses. I looked at the President who was revelling in this, the Romantian President beside him keeping his integrity but looking thoroughly disturbed.

"Last year, Panem displayed it was the _strongest force on earth_!" The President raised a fist and the audience cheered and began to get rowdy, though he continued speaking, his voice still somehow elevated above them: "Gone are the treacherous rebels! Gone are the traitors that ran District Thirteen! Panem is _unified_ and it is _supreme_!" The cheers somehow grew louder. Tesni squeezed my hand nervously. "And yet some still challenge our might. Last year rebel scum stole the baby of our heroic Victor Mirane Saffell. Her father, the talented Mayor of District Eight, made it clear that this cannot stand. And after the rebels tried to stop the game and killed _mothers_ , _fathers, children_ and _friends_ we must all make it clear it cannot stand. Operation Piranha will be expanded to all of Panem. We will introduce legislation to ensure we are all free and secure from these terrorists, we will make it clear that everyone's eyes are Panem's eyes and they are set on them!"

A Peacekeeper leaned in and whispered in my ear. "You are best leaving the chariot, Sir." I glanced and saw another whispering in Tesni's ear.

"Why?"

"Trust me," he held out his hand and helped me jump out the chariot. All of the tributes were lined up on the sidelines, unable to see the road of the roaring crowd without the height boost our chariots gave us. I could only see the vast town square and, perched up on his balcony giving his rousing speech, the President. Only the Thirteeners were still stood in their chariot.

"This is bad, huh?" I said to the Five girl who was opposite me on one side. She glanced at me.

"The worst thing is I get the feeling this isn't the worst to come," she said to me. Next to her, her tall District partner was shaking with rage and his eyes welled with tears as he looked at those who had dragged the carriages into the square. It was almost as if he recognised them.

"But we are here," the President said. "Despite the rebels' best efforts we are continuing with these Games. With these Games we will show what happens to those who defy us…" There was a pause and he leaned closer to the microphone, almost whispering: "I am proud to announce the two-hundredth and fifth Games have…"

Something wasn't right. There a beat.

"Begun!"

Usually after the President declared the start of the Games there was a firework show. I wished that was the case – it wasn't.

The horses that once dragged our chariots responded to the President's voice, like it was a trained command. Some even looked distressed at what they would do, letting out distressed neighs and kicking and prancing about. But we watched with horror as they charged into action, together running towards those who had dragged the Thirteens into the town square.

"Oh my god," the Five girl and Tesni said in unison.

The prisoners seemed too broken to even try to survive, but some looked at the horses with wide eyes before they were all knocked into the ground in unison. I watched helplessly as they weren't just thrown into the dirt but trampled into it. I was unsure if it wasn't just my imagination, but I could hear bone after bone breaking as the horses repeatedly ran them over – again and again and again…

The Five boy snapped and almost rushed into action, his District partner trying unsuccessfully to stop him. Thankfully, the One girl he was beside was strong and managed to keep him in place without much of a fuss. When the Peacekeepers that littered the square seemed to notice, the Five boy threw himself back into place, tears of horror streaming down his cheeks.

He wasn't the only one. Tesni silently wept besides me. If the cameras were on us we would have all looked so weak – but the highlight of the show were the rebels who now resembled red mush on the floor. Some of their blood had sprayed onto the traumatised Thirteen tributes, joining the stains of strange fruit that canvassed their face and naked bodies.

There was a moment of silence. The square was now filled with bodies… Piles of them.

"You will _never_ bite the hand that feeds you," the President hissed, genuine anger heard in his tone publicly for the first time. Even the Capitolian audience was deathly silent as he stormed into the Palace, his wife and the Romantian President speechless in his wake.

* * *

Soon we were tucked away from the Capitolian crowds and the Presidential brutality, but the effects of what we had seen lingered. If this was what the President had done to the once clean pre-Games, the part of the Games that was supposed to be pleasantly free from death and violence, it made me terrified for what lay ahead.

Daymiun ushered us into an elevator with the Eleven tributes and their orange faced escort. The ride up was extremely tense with not a single word spoken, though I exchanged a warm and reassuring smile with the Eleven boy – who reeked of warmth and innocence – before we stepped out into our living quarters.

Daymiun was an interesting escort. He wasn't so ostentatious in his manner or his dress – his face only being slightly made up. As we entered the living quarters, I watched as he removed his jacket and hung it up. His quietness and his ashen face told me he was just as disturbed by what he had seen as the rest of us.

"You two should rest before dinner," he said, his voice slightly empty. "Take a shower. Watch a movie. Something like that, Panem knows you need it." With that he walked off into his own bedroom.

Tesni just stood in place, not moving, not talking. What she had seen had really gotten to her – I mean, I was shaken and sickened, but she looked traumatised.

"I'm just going to watch a movie and get out of this stupid outfit," I explained to her gently. "Do you want me to get you anything?"

"N-No," she fidgeted. "I'm just going to go shower."

I smiled and turned to leave.

"Silas," she said, her voice reaching that rare volume – not a whisper. I turned to face her and raised an eyebrow. "I don't want that to happen to me."

"Don't want what?"

"What happened to those rebels and prisoners," she spoke a bit more boldly, actually making eye contact. There was a certain glint in her pale blue eyes. "I don't want that to happen to me. I don't want to die," she pursed her lips nervously. "And if I have to fight to stop that from happening to me… So be it."

* * *

 **Well, hopefully this marks a return to regular updates! And thank you _so_ much to all who reviewed. It was so heartening to see so many of you were still here and still attached to the story. Plz keep that up and I will love you forever. I may seldom reply to reviews but that doesn't mean I don't read and they don't make me think/smile - it also shouldn't mean you should shy from finding more direct ways of contacting me.**

 **I remembered one thing I loved about these stories was the sense of community. So you should all return to the forums - who remembers CCQ's and IQ's? They'll be posted to the forum now, on the HuOBHu thread, to encourage discussion. Hopefully I'll (or, if you guys get active, you guys) will think of more gimmicks to get us all talking about this little verse I've created. Weirdly, it's been in my head for many years, so I'm awfully attached to it. I couldn't totally leave it if I tried, not without finishing the story I have had floating around in my head since I was 14.**

 _ **~Toxic**_


	9. Mightier Than the Sword

**Raiyah Crahn, District 11, 16**

I feel like last night should have switched something on within me.

First there was the rebel attack in the remake centre, where it seemed like they wanted to claim our lives. I felt no fear – only indifference. Then with what happened afterwards, with all of us being forced to not only watch the Thirteen tributes get humiliated in the way they were, but to see the corpses of the rebels and to see the other political prisoners be unceremoniously executed in such a brutal way?

There was some sense of disgust, anger and even fear. But when I glanced sideways at Flori and saw him wet himself at what he had seen, I knew that I was maintaining a cool head. I should be shaken to the core. But I wasn't.

I seemed normal on the outside. Boring, even. And I guessed I kind of was. But on the inside I felt different. Not in a cliché kind of way, but in the way I struggled to care about pretty much anything or anyone. I'd never considered myself psychopathic or sociopathic… When I saw what some of the more twisted characters in Panem did, I knew I wouldn't do that. Not without good purpose.

But even then, it was hard to find purpose in anything. I was indifferent to the concept of myself as I was to the concept of others. I didn't think there was any greater good to fight, die or kill for.

When I sat down at the breakfast table, joining Magellan, Iopian and Flori, I realised just how awful last night had been: Magellan was tapping on her cellular device, looking anywhere but at us, Iopian seemed to have a sudden fascination with the back of his hand and Flori was looking at the breakfast he'd served himself, though I don't think he wanted to eat it. He was a pale shade of green.

Poor kid. I guess murder got to people like that.

"Morning," I said to them all. I got no response, which I kind of expected. Pulling back my chair and sitting down, I spoke. "So, first day of training. What do we do?"

Iopian looked up at me for a second, and didn't speak. When I felt like the conversational one, something was seriously up. Eventually, for some reason, he gave a regretful sigh. And then he started talking:

"Neither of you know much about survival, nor do you seem to have experience with any particular weapons," he said as I started serving myself a healthy portion of breakfast. "I say you spend half of each day devoting your time to two things: learning about survival, and learning how to handle a particular weapon of your choice, though maybe you can risk half an hour today fiddling around with each weapon to see which one feels right. I'd advise neither of you to go near swords, or anything particularly heavy weighted. You don't seem strong enough. Then concentrate and dedicate. Act like you're studying for the most important test of your life."

"This is the most important test – game – whatever, anything, of our lives," I said bluntly. "We fail, we die."

Flori visibly flinched beside me. Iopian just nodded.

"I can only guide you," he said coolly. "Well, I have to help with sponsorship stuff but don't worry about it. I have it all in the bag." He smiled. "Other than what I've told you, I hate to scare you, but your survival is mostly on you."

Flori just stood up and rushed out of the room. I watched after him calmly, though understood why he did what he did when I heard the sound of him choking and vomiting in the bathroom. I looked up at Iopian, who seemed both upset and concerned.

"That really is not good table manners," Magellan finally put her device down and shook her head disapprovingly as she poured some orange juice. "But he hasn't thrown up in public yet, so I'll give him the benefit of the doubt."

I put way too much food in my mouth and was muted, so could offer no words of consolation when Flori finally made his way back into the room. Not that I'd know what to say.

Iopian was known for being a calculating and somewhat cold tribute, but I certainly saw an empathic side to him that I envied. He reached over and grabbed Flori's hand.

"Look, kid," he smiled weakly. "I can't make false promises. But what I can say is that you shouldn't give up."

"Yesterday was supposed to be the calm before the storm," Flori said, no tone in his voice. I swallowed, shovelling another mound of food in my mouth and observing their conversation with interest. "And people… t-they just died. So many of them died and it was right in front of me and I couldn't do anything about it."

"I know," Iopian said.

"A-And I'm next," Flori's face contorted as if he were about to cry, though his reddened eyes showed no sign of incoming tears. I think he'd cried too much and exhausted the glands. "I have seen so many things around me die and I knew it was going to get me eventually but now I'm next-"

"God, I hope not," Magellan rolled her eyes. "That'd make you twenty-sixth out and twenty-six and no matter how well Little Miss Sunshine over there does," she jerked her fork towards me, "I stand no chance of a promotion."

"Magellan, please," Iopian glanced at her sternly. "Not helping."

"What I'm trying to say is, if you can't do it for yourself, do it for me," Magellan forced a smile at Flori and stood up. "I mean, think about the work I am doing to keep you alive. I have to go around social gatherings and public places and converse with idiots in an attempt to convince them you might just survive this thing. And that'll be hard," she looked at the both of us. "No offence. So I am off to work."

With that, after assembling a coat and handbag, she strolled out.

"What she means," Iopian held a jug of water and poured it into Flori's glass. "Is that we're rooting for you. And I know it's hard to believe but whatever happens, you'll be okay. There'll be some kind of peace at the end of your journey." Way to make something so morbid seem so tranquil and nice, but it seemed to be working. "But you still have to fight for your family. They'll be rooting for you too. So eat, you'll need to. Drink some water. Take a minute and relax. And forget about last night, because you'll have plenty time to rest and process that sometime later. Okay?"

Flori nodded and took a swig of water. "Okay."

"Good," Iopian smiled. "And that advice I gave to Rye earlier applies to you. Learn some survival stuff. Learn how to use a weapon. It might be easier than you expect."

* * *

I'd always been a decent enough student, so if training was going to be a little like studying, I figured I wouldn't let myself get too intimidated by it. Though a few tributes had tried to make small talk as I flitted between stations and practiced on them, I mostly ignored them or engaged in only the lightest conversation.

Most arenas the past few years seemed to mostly take place in an indoor setting, so I figured learning some new tricks and titbits that would particularly apply to indoor arenas wouldn't hurt. After briefly scanning the manual and working on soldering some wires, I looked around the large and vast training centre to see if any alliances had formed.

We'd barely been here an hour, so alliance building was in its infancy. I saw people converse briefly, but it never seemed to last. One exception were the Careers, who were already bonding over their meathead appreciation for big axes and other deadly appliances. It was the typical bunch: both Ones, both Twos and both Fours. Very traditional.

"Hi," the quiet voice made me jump and nearly soldier my finger off. The wire I was working on almost split in two.

"Flori!" I looked at the youthful, round faced boy. Even though he was fourteen, a little younger than myself, something in his appearance and nature made him seem slightly more immature. I also noted that he was kind of good at appearing out of nowhere… Maybe he wasn't Bloodbath fodder after all. "Can you be a little more obvious next time?"

"Sorry," he smiled and perched himself on the table, taking a manual and reading through it. I couldn't help but notice how he'd perked up since Iopian's little pep talk. "How difficult is this stuff?"

"Easy, I think," although I was yet to do anything proper. "The wires are all colour coded… so like this little green and yellow one," I fiddled with it. "It's like a safety mechanism. So the live wire doesn't conduct any electricity through metal casing. I think, anyway," I scanned the manual again as I shakily worked on the wiring.

"Had you ever seen anyone die before?" Flori asked me out of the blue. I tried not to upset him by letting him know just how much he weirded me out, but he kind of did. I'd noticed he had a weird fixation on death.

"No," I said, before correcting myself. "No one I'm close to. But the Peacekeepers in my town are strict, so I've seen a fair few public executions."

"Me too, they're grim," he swung his leg off the side of the counter and glanced at my wiring. "Those two shouldn't overlap, you know."

"Oh, right," he was right. I began to adjust the wiring.

"But nobody close to you?"

"No. I suppose I've been really lucky," I said, smiling at him. Or fortunate-ish. Had I an abundance of food or money, my life would've been significantly smoother. But my family were alive, no big tragedies. I couldn't complain and I didn't intend to.

"My brother died. Cancer."

I pressed a switch and smiled when a light bulb finally turned on, flickering slightly, and a fan began turning. "Sorry to hear that," I said, moving onto more complex wiring. "That must have sucked."

"It did. But I learned to accept it. It happens to everyone, eventually. It'll happen to you and me."

"Likely soon," I said nonchalantly.

"Yeah. I don't think its death that's sad," he explained. "Iopian's right. It's kind of like resting. I used to be scared of death. Now I think I'm more scared of life than death. The pain and the torment before I actually die," he bit his lip and put down the manual, starting to work on the wiring himself. "And the pain afterwards. When Dorian, my twin brother died, it changed everything. My parents divorced and kind of became shut off... If I died, I think they'd be really lonely. I don't really know what they'd do. That was what scared me."

"Love is a pretty scary thing," I admitted.

"Are you scared about who you're leaving behind?"

That was personal. And I didn't want to answer.

"I mean, there's my dad, and my brother, and I have a few people I talk to in school," I felt bad when I admitted. "I'm not worried about leaving them behind too much."

"And your mum?"

I pursed my lips. "She's… Well. Yeah. I don't want to leave her behind," I shrugged. "If I die I only have one regret. That I never got to care about her as much as she cared about me." Why was I opening up to this kid? Was it because of the way he radiated friendliness and had an attitude that seemed dangerously non-judgmental?

I decided not to talk, and finished wiring so that the fake bomb I was supposed to activate starting bleeping, meaning that I had activated it successfully. I smiled, realising that this meant I could move on to another station. As I made my way to a first aid station, I noticed Flori was following me.

I bit back what felt like the stirrings of guilt, though I refused to let that guilt concentrate, and boldly turned to the young boy.

"Look," I gave a weak smile. "You seem like a nice guy and all…" This speech felt generic, almost like I were rejecting or breaking up with a guy – which was something I was all too used to. "But the thing is, I'm a lone wolf. Surely you get that, right?"

"I mean, I guess," Flori looked hesitant, the crevices of hurt beginning to burrow into his features. "I don't really have any friends… My brother was my best friend but um… Yeah. He died."

Great. Bring the dead relative into this to make my job harder.

"I want to work alone," I told him bluntly, grabbing a manual. "I want to survive alone, and if I'm to die, I want to enjoy the goddamn peace of it all and die alone. You're a sweet kid and other people will probably be willing to be your ally. But it's a no from me. So can we just not talk until dinner, so I can focus on my training?"

Flori pursed his lips. If he was feeling hurt, he didn't dare let any of it peek its way into his expression.

"Sure. If that's what you want."

"It is."

He forced a smile but as he turned around, changed his mind and turned three-sixty degrees.

"I'm not looking for an ally," he told me. "I don't like that word. It's kind of utilitarian. Like they're not people, just a means to the end," frustrated by him distracting my training, I opened my mouth to counter-point, but he was there first. "And I guess that is the point. But I don't think I have a chance of surviving anyway. I'm going to die," he shrugged. "That's how it is. So I don't want an ally – I want a companion. I've been lonely for… So, so long. I thought I liked it that way. Seeing all those people die last night, thinking that rebels were going to blast a bullet in my brain, I can't take it anymore. I don't want to die lonely. But if you do, that's on you."

With that he walked away with a more confident gait. I should have not cared, focused on my manual, but I found myself staring after him.

When I returned my gaze to the manual I couldn't help but realise that I was an asshole. And I wish I could give a damn about that, but I didn't.

… Right?

* * *

 **Nate Orison, District 13, 16**

I didn't care for training. Why would I? I wasn't here to participate in the Games. I wasn't here to win the Games. Death was something that I had accepted with almost near certainty. I would die for this cause.

But I felt bad for Epsilon. And, when I died – whenever that was, Bloodbath or if I were in the final two with her, I would want her to survive. She was a Thirteener. She was a part of me, and I a part of her. We lived and breathed as one. Together, we prepared for the Capitol onslaught. Together, we watched as people we loved, the District we loved, was claimed by the Capitol.

When we got back from the gruelling chariot ride, from the public executions and the very public humiliation, and were given a measly dinner of bread and water Epsilon spent the whole time crying. She had spent this morning, where we were again just given more bread and water, crying.

The District kids didn't know how easy they had it. And it felt weird saying that to twenty-four kids who could potentially all die, but it was true. They were being pampered and treated humanely by the Capitol before the bloodshed. We weren't. The train was a false sense of security, where the Capitol wanted to preview us with the luxury the other Districts had before they would hurriedly snatch it away and teach us that we were in for a rough time.

The Districts only had to worry about a bad chariot outfit as a worst-case scenario. We were publicly humiliated, stripped naked and booed by the Capitol with rotten food thrown at us. Then we had to watch the executions up close and personal.

Following that, other Districts had a whole floor to themselves and continued to bask in the lap of luxury. Tauri made sure to tell us about it: hot tubs, televisions and all the food they wanted. We stayed in an empty room with two dirty mattresses in the building's basement.

Part of it was practical – for centuries the living quarters had only had twelve floors. But we were still forced to undergo prisoner conditions. A five minute cold shower. No entertainment. No anything. And if we complained about it our escort, who barely spent time with us as she was given her own room, which I'm sure was very comfortable, told us to stop complaining and to invest our energy into survival.

On top of that, the other District kids interacted with each other freely (with an exception of the 'Careers' – the lapdogs – who the other kids seemed to fear, though they had formed a cozy clique of their own), yet avoided us like a plague when we were likely the ones who needed the most company. They probably thought we were strange, or maybe they knew we reeked of bad juju.

Over at one of the knife stations, I glanced at my own reflection mournfully in the blade. My pale skin somehow seemed even more drained, my eyes encircled by tired black bags and my hair lost of its sheen. I guess that was the natural consequence of enduring all of this.

When I scanned the room to look for Epsilon, I saw she was not as calm as I was. She was holding on to a sword, swinging it around with an impressive strength but with little tact. It wasn't training: she was hacking into a dummy, releasing all of her anger. One of the trainers tried to tell her how to improve her technique, but flinched under her steely glare.

I decided to approach her. As I got closer, I noticed she had tears in her eyes. I hoped other tributes weren't judging, but I knew they were.

"You're a Thirteener," I said to her. "You're stronger than this. You can't let last night destroy you."

Without even turning to address me, Epsilon hacked an arm and then a leg off a dummy. "It didn't," she said with a trembling voice. I could almost feel her anger. "It's made me more determined to survive than ever. That's how to win: to live. And to give District Thirteen a year's supply of food. I will get home and see my family again."

"It's okay to admit that you're weak," I said.

That was my personal philosophy anyway, although I knew it was contradictory to Thirteen's steely and stoic nature. Insulted at the accusation, Epsilon turned to face me, dark hair falling into wet, dark eyes.

"You know what I've survived," she said, letting go on the sword and wiping the sweat off her brow. As if she wanted to feel more strain, wanted to push herself to the limit, I saw her go over to the sword rack and pick up an even heavier sword that I thought only a hulking man like the Two boy could pick up. Though she struggled under its weight, she managed to drag it over to another dummy and hack the life out of it. The trainer at the station was silent, but looked distressed. "My father was killed because he was in the black book. I lost friends at the takeover – so many. I was nearly _raped,_ " she let go of the sword that was weighing her down after bisecting the dummy in one fluid movement and glared at me. "This will not break me. They can't break me."

"Okay," I just looked at her. "But I'm here if you need to talk."

"Don't you have to learn to survive yourself? For District Thirteen, if anything? I thought it was clear we get food and oil if one of us survives. This is a fight for our District."

I didn't see it that way. Even though I volunteered, I didn't volunteer for this game. I refused to play it. "I have more important things to do," I said, turning around and deciding to leave Epsilon alone to cope in her own way.

When I scanned the hall I noticed these much-discussed alliances were already forming: the lapdogs were all together, which Tauri had told me to expect, the District Six tributes had stuck together and I noticed the Eight girl was conversing cordially with the Five and Nine girls.

Everybody else was alone. The Three girl was at a cooking station, her District partner was rocking himself in his own crazy world next to the rock sharpening station, the District Seven boy was clumsily trying to learn how to fire a bow with his District partner doing a more impressive display a few meters away, the Eight boy was building a shelter, the Nine boy constructing a net…

My attention lingered on the loner that caught my eye the most. The Five boy. He looked intimidating, but that wasn't what about him caught my attention. I remembered how he had reacted, from the corner of my eye, when all the rebels yesterday were killed.

I approached him and pretended to inspect a copy of the manual he was reading. It was nothing interesting – gamma rays, the dangers of radiation, symptoms, blah blah.

"Hey," I smiled at him. He looked at me uncaringly and said nothing. Somehow, my interest grew.

There was a five-minute silence. "I'm sorry," he said gruffly. "About what happened to you last night."

"I was prepared for it," I said. True. I volunteered knowing brutality lay ahead, although I was not prepared for that kind of public humiliation. "I'm sorry too. You looked upset at what happened."

"I was."

"Did you know any of them?"

"Kaya Aspen," he said mournfully. I knew that name. I knew she led a rebellious faction in District Ten. I'd never gotten to know her personally, because I was recruited after she'd been seized and made a political prisoner. It hurt knowing that a woman I'd heard talked about with much admiration was now dead. "She was the mother of a tribute that died very recently… She had other children. She was a wife. Now she's dead."

For Xavier to know her… That meant that surely he was a rebel. I hadn't heard of him before, so he mustn't have been a higher up. Still, District Five's faction was supposed to be totally eradicated.

All of the rebels were, even if dregs and pockets still hung around most were imprisoned, dead, in hiding or refugees. Some in District Thirteen had recruited me, though Thirteen's remaining and surviving civil servants and government officials complied with the Capitol's rules and orders. However, from within our very power structures we had heard of the rebel cause from Commander Virtage. It was only a few of us. And I had been trained the whole year to prepare for this very mission, one that would lead to my death in the short term but would bury the Capitol in the long.

"When all else crumbles run to where the maple trees grow," I said to Xavier, a secret rebel catchphrase and our last piece of advice to all just in case all else failed like it had last year. Some had already begun to follow its instructions, only the bravest rebels hung around to try and implement plan B.

Xavier's eyes widened and he acknowledged me. He finished the sentence. "Where the summer and the winter are beholden to the snow."

He was a rebel. And so was I. We looked each other in the eyes for a few seconds. Perhaps he was a Capitolian who had intercepted this very greeting when District Three's intel was completely seized? But then he was approaching me with the same suspicious glance. I had no doubt in my mind that he was one of me.

"District Thirteen?" He looked puzzled. "It has?"

I shushed him immediately, knowing security cameras and microphones were observing our every move and grabbed a sheet of paper. It looked like a word sheet where you were supposed to test yourself on your knowledge. Only next to where it asked what radiation was the least ionising I jotted down: ' _Write here_.'

' _There's still rebels?_ ' He wrote on a separate sheet. I glanced at it and decided to act as normally as possible.

"I think that's wrong," I said, scratching my chin as I wrote down: _'Those of us that weren't killed have followed the rhyme. Some of us are remaining to fulfil the last hope. District Thirteen is bold, we haven't submitted the way the Capitol think we have. We have rebels in our own ranks now.'_

Xavier's face changed when he read what I wrote, as if something made sense to him. "I get it now," he smiled at me. He continued small talk: "So do you have a family?"

"They're all dead," I sighed as I watched him jot down the next sentence. "You?"

' _What is the last hope?'_

"I… I honestly don't know," he grimaced at me as I wrote:

' _To send me into the heart of the Capitol. Before she was arrested and killed Commander Virtage obtained vital information and intelligence. We have to transmit it to the refugees and to the Second Mockingjay.'_

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said.

"It's okay. I've been in prison for a year."

"Oh, why?"

"Rebellion," Xavier smiled slyly at me. I suppressed my own instinct to grin as he wrote:

' _Who is the Second Mockingjay?'_

Was he imprisoned before this plot came to be, even though it had been in the works for a couple of years now? No. He just wasn't important enough. Most rebels did not know of this extremely tight knit, extremely secretive plan. It was truly our last hope.

' _A recruit who lies in the very heart of the Capitol and its power structures. Only the Second Mockingjay survives as the rebellion's beating heart within the Capitol. It's crucial I relay this information to her.'_

"I don't get it," Xavier said to me, whilst writing:

' _Who is this person?'_

"Let me explain it to you," I said, grabbing the answer sheet. "See?"

' _This is something only those very high up know. I cannot tell you. But you have to help me, tomorrow. Are you in?'_

"Yes," he said without hesitation. He understood his place in the rebel's chain of command. I, too, understood. Not that I was important enough to even be in the Second Mockingjay's proximity – I just volunteered to transmit the information. I don't even know what she hoped to do with it. I didn't even know if it was enough. But it was all we had, so I would die for it. I knew Xavier would too. "So we're allies?"

"Yes," I smiled. "Want to join me at the fire station?"

He nodded. I'd had someone to help me complete my mission tomorrow, which I desperately needed. And I had an ally in the arena – someone who could make my death a little less lonely. A friend who understood my cause.

We made our way to the fire station together. Nonchalantly, I threw my piece of paper into the fire the District Eight boy had successfully constructed so that the Capitol could never obtain it. Xavier, the Eight boy and I watched the flames eat it into oblivion, ash dancing into the air.

* * *

 **Agrippa Wilder, District 2, 18**

I wasn't a Career, but I knew immediately that to win the Games the best course of action I could take was joining the Career bunch. I didn't like them much, except for my own District partner, but to deny their strategic purpose would be foolish. In being in their alliance, I got access to a lot of food, medicine and weapons from the get go. For the first week or so, they would also not paint their target on my back. It may have dampened my drive for independence and being alone a little, but the pros far outmatched the cons.

Although just being with them had made me realise that there were cons. Titan back on the train was pretty fair: I was in District Two, so as long as I could accept there was weight to pull I was in the alliance. I could accept that.

Then as soon as training began, and I followed Titan where the Career District bunch would supposedly bandy together and form our _comfortable_ little alliance, the District One asshole stepped up like he was the boss and loudly made demands about being in an alliance: unquestioning patriotism and a score of eight. Whatever.

"And that's me being generous," the blonde asshole said, his eyes lingering on me. He must have known I wasn't your traditional Career – I must have stood out, having not been raised in their little bubble.

I liked Titan, but the others were worse. The Four girl immediately gave me holier than thou vibes. Her District partner tried to cup my ass when introducing himself. The District One girl was cold and standoffish – then again, I guess I couldn't hold that against her.

"Now, I assume we're all trained," he said, his emerald eyes lingering once again on me that split second longer. I noticed him also inspect his District partner with some suspicion, though she too didn't seem to care much. "If not, you better get training. Remember: you need an eight to make it, and an eight is hard to get to the untrained individual. Remember each and every second that I'm being generous. To those confident they'll get an eight, I say we get a whiff of the other tributes: who is a threat, who isn't. Try to knock the cocky ones down a size. We should also bond with each other, we'll be living and dying together over the next few weeks."

"I have a question," I raised my arm a little.

"Yes, Agrippa," Rosario nodded towards me.

I kept my indifferent façade. "Pip," I corrected. "So who made you leader?"

My theory the One boy was way too up himself had been proven right the moment he heard me have the audacity to question his leadership. He looked like I had struck him.

"Nobody makes anybody anything in this world, _Pip_ ," he said. "Because there's a natural authority to it. That is how it is. It is obvious I am the only person with the experience and drive to lead this pack. Do you want to be leader?" He asked the Four girl.

If looks could kill, Rosario would be sprawled across the floor and would be barely warm. Still, the Four girl didn't seem like she wanted to challenge him.

"No."

"What about you, Yveaux?"

Yveaux, weirdly cocky and confident with me, didn't like being put on the spot in that way. I found this new attitude interesting.

"Uh, I dunno man… I just came here to get rich and laid."

Rosario rolled his eyes and glanced up at Titan.

"The only guy I'd trust to lead the Careers that isn't myself," I didn't mind Titan, but him blushing and basking in the compliment made me want to projectile vomit in Rosario's face. "If you want to take the mantle, I'm happy to step aside."

"No, dude, it's okay," Titan smiled a little bit.

Rosario glanced over at his own District partner and me.

"And you two aren't even trained Careers," he sneered. "So how do you expect to lead us if you're not one of us?"

He smirked at me, daring me to respond. I had so much I wanted to say. He was probably some stuck up rich kid from One whose parents could afford to lavish him with the luxury of training. He'd probably been used to people getting on their hands and knees for him his whole life. They all probably had. They had no idea how lucky they've had it.

I may not have been trained, but that didn't mean I couldn't fight and couldn't survive. Every day had been a day where I'd had to fight and survive, ever since I was twelve. And I had to engage with real, actual people, not dummies or tied up criminals.

I opened my mouth, ready to release all my thoughts, when I heard a voice whisper in my ear.

"Just go along with it. It's not worth your time."

I briefly glanced aside at the One girl, with her sullen, dark features. She gave me a quick nod and I decided however cold she may be, she'd had to live with this asshole for the past day or so. Her advice was, in that respect, valuable. I hated keeping my mouth shut when I had an opinion, but when you'd made your money being part of a gang it was something you knew you had to do.

"Or do you actually have something to say, Jordyn?"

"No, Rosario," she looked anywhere except towards him or me. "Not at all."

"Good. So, as I said, sniff things out a little, get to know each other, learn something if you feel it necessary. I expect us to exchange notes and think of a grand scheme come lunchtime."

So they all scattered. The Four girl went her own way, but Yveaux followed Jordyn like a desperate puppy desperate for some tail – and considering she was on the average looking side at best, he definitely reeked of desperate. I wandered along nonchalantly after Titan.

"What gave you the right to tell him I hadn't trained?" I demanded, trying and failing to keep my cool.

Titan looked at me apologetically, biting his bottom lip. "I'm sorry Pip," he said. "I just think transparency is best in this alliance. Plus, he would've been able to tell anyway. Careers are trained in more than just killing. There's a certain cultural and behavioural element. Etiquette."

"Not helping my perception that Careers are nothing more than preps who have learned how to slit people's throats," I said drily.

"I told him you were tough, that you could gel in this alliance, and he knows his District partner is tough even though she's not a trained Career," I glanced at Jordyn, who was training alone at the knife throwing station. She _was_ pretty good. And her not being part of the Career conveyor belt was nice. "So don't sw-"

"Titan," Rosario called from a sword station. Titan looked towards him eagerly. "Spar?"

"Right over!" Titan smiled, waving at Rosario before glancing at me. "So, we cool?"

"Sure," I shrugged. "Go see your crush."

"He's not my cr-"

I put him down with one sceptical glance. "Right, I believe you. So be careful. I work in a gang, I can sniff out the hang the gays bunch from a mile off."

"Well I'm not totally-"

"People like him don't care for the difference," I said, turning around. "Toodles, Titan."

* * *

I'd decided if I were to buddy up with any of the other Careers, it would be the One girl. I wasn't big on the Fours, and she seemed to keep herself to herself – plus her advice earlier was appreciated. We spent many hours in silence, throwing knives. I observed some of the other tributes, though, keeping an eye out on any potential threats and alliances.

The One girl was impressively good with a knife. Having not been trained, I found I was mediocre at best. I was strong, and approached fighting with brutality and spontaneity. I definitely did not have the finesse you needed to throw knives.

After a moment of well-appreciated bliss, Jordyn spoke. If she hadn't given me that advice earlier, I would have thought she were mute.

"Want to go spar with hand-to-hand?"

"That's something I can get behind," I told her with a smile.

We made our way to the mats, ignored our trainer's instructions to bow to each other and immediately started: Jordyn was first, quick and fluid. Though she was a lot shorter than I, that didn't make her weaker. I blocked both of her strikes, but found myself stumbling backwards with the force of her blows.

"Don't let Rosario get to you too much," she said, almost surprising me with a kick. I ducked under and she dodged my parry with a sidestep. "He's just an asshole who is so wrapped up in his own weird ways."

She turned and quickly launched a kick. I grabbed her leg and threw her backwards, watching as she gracefully avoided a clumsy fall to the floor by flipping backwards.

"So you're not a Career?" I asked her.

"I'm trained, but no, I'm not one of them," she asked, keeping her stance, waiting for me to strike. I held eye contact with her and bit my lip. "Rosario doesn't see the difference there. What about you?"

"Well…" I hoped to use the conversation to distract her. When her guard seem down I struck, managing to jab her in the stomach. I heard her exhale and lurch slightly, but before I could grip her and throw her to the floor she moved out of my way, my arms turning to the air. We immediately both assumed a defensive position. "I can fight. Sometimes you don't need coaches, you just need a hard dose of life."

"I see. I'd have assumed you were," she smiled and leapt forward. I almost didn't have time to react before a scissor kick in the gut left me sprawled across the floor, coughing slightly as I had been winded. Shit. If that were a real life fight, I would probably be dead. Jordyn stood proudly over me. "I mean, you are very nearly my equal in a one-to-one battle. Nearly."

I almost considered swatting her hand away when she offered it to me. I felt bitter. Though even being near equal to a trained person was considered impressive, it wasn't enough. The alternative was dying, so I reminded myself to use this day and the next to train harder and be the best I could.

"I hear District Two's pretty poor," Jordyn said to me as the lunch bell rang. We joined the flocks of other tributes that made their way to the canteen. "What in life made you so good at fighting, if not training?" She thought and regarded me with even more suspicion. "What made you want to join this rat race?"

I paused. "I've lived on my own since I was twelve," I said. "Had to do… interesting things… to meet ends meet."

"You're an orphan?"

I shook my head. "I wish I were."

"Complicated huh?"

I gave her a rue smile. "More than you would ever know."

We waited in lines to collect our food. I noted that even though it wasn't as varied as the food we were given on the train or in our living quarters, the soups, pastas and salads on option were still way better than what I had to live off. It would probably be more luxurious than what I would likely live on in the later stages of the Games, so it wouldn't hurt to eat a lot of it.

… I mean, if I ever lived that long.

* * *

 **Yveaux Hathers, District 4, 18**

"Oh, you think that's impressive?" I said to Lily before showing her my guns. I liked how impressed she seemed, her eyes widening with interest. "These babies took a lot of pain to gain over a few years. I mean, you try living your adolescence without pizza or Sunday lie ins. Miserable life, right?"

"They _are_ impressive," Lily conceded. "Can I touch them?"

"Go ahead," I winked. "I'm always open to being touched."

Lily gave them a firm squeeze and giggled again. "Oh wow, they just feel so _solid_. Good for killing people. How intimidated are you, Raleigh?"

The Ten boy looked up at me over a spoonful of soup. The glare I felt from those blue tinted, hazel eyes felt like it lay somewhere between suspicion and outright contempt – not that I blamed him, of course. As soon as that gong sounded I would likely drive a spear through his throat.

But why not let bygones be bygones, especially considering the bloodshed hadn't even started yet?

"Sure," he glowered at me some more and then actually started eating some of his food.

"Boring food choice, dude," I told him, deciding to be the better person. I showed him my bowl of cheese-covered pasta, complimented with a slice of pizza, before patting my abs. "I have spent my whole life starving myself voluntarily to get a body this good before the Games. While I'm in the Capitol, I think I'll treat myself. Considering you're in District Ten… I mean… Don't you guys starve yourself not so voluntarily?"

"Classy," Raleigh said sardonically.

"Oh ignore him," Lily punched his arm lightly and dug her fork into some of her own tomato laced pasta. "He can be so serious sometimes."

I liked Lily. A lot. She was not like my similarly named District partner. Though they looked alike, both being redheads, she wasn't quite as hot as Lillee either, but her easygoing and carefree personality more than made up for it.

Lillee wasn't interested in talking to me unless it was about the Games. She was so… bland. I tried my luck with the District One girl (the Two girl, with her serpentine features, was something I don't think I'd even go for if I were _very_ drunk). Eventually, I somehow ended up talking to the Ten girl, and she like other tributes did not look ready to wet themselves in my presence. In fact, I think she quite liked me.

"Yveaux!" Uh-oh, Rosario the fun killer had found a victim. I forced myself to hold my smile and turned to face him. "Here, now."

"One sec lady and gentleman," I grabbed my tray and made my way over to the table where the Careers had settled. To Lillee's annoyance, I nabbed an apple she had and bit into it. "Hey. How is it over here in killer land?"

"What were you doing with the Ten girl?"

"Intimidating her," I smiled goofily as I tucked into my food.

"Letting her squeeze your muscles does not look like a good way to intimidate her, Yveaux."

"Of course it does! She'll know how strong I am!" I showed off my guns once again through a mouthful of food. All of the girls on the table, boring virgins as they were, looked absolutely disgusted. Rosario looked nothing short of unimpressed. At least the Two dude looked amused – I noted that he would probably be the only person in this alliance who would be fun, so other than myself and Lillee, District loyalty and all, I hoped he lasted longest.

"Well, it's lunchtime," Rosario nibbled at his salad a little. "A quality time to get to know each other. We will be working as a unit, surviving as a unity, hunting as a unit… Killing as unit." He took a chunk out of a tomato and looked at us all. "Did your academy ever use icebreakers?"

"Yes," I said. "None _quite_ as good as a bit of fine wining and dining though. Or just hallucinogens and vodka."

Rosario sighed. "I was thinking we all introduce ourselves by name, as is polite, then say what motivated us to volunteer and what we believe our greatest skill to be." Oh yuck. This was like reliving the first year of academy all over again, only without the reaching to third base with all of the other Career girls when they were impressionable and not so tough. "I'm Rosario, I volunteered because I love this country and I'm honoured to serve it by participating in this long standing and proud tradition and I would say my best strength is probably with a spear. What about you, Jordyn?"

"Huh?" Jordyn looked up over a bowl of rice.

"What made you do this? And what are you good at?"

"I… I dunno, I guess it was the only way I saw myself making money," Jordyn shovelled a spoonful of rice in her mouth, chewed and then swallowed. "Was too short for the Peacekeepers. Too poor for the academy. I was good at compulsory training, so decided this was all I had going for me."

"And?"

"And?" Jordyn repeated. I could tell she disliked the attention she was getting.

"Your best strength?"

"I'm… I dunno, I'm good with an urumi."

"What's that?" I said out loud, food still in my mouth. Lillee elbowed me and virtually forced me to swallow it as I continued. "Sounds a bit like something I caught from the local bicycle a couple years ago."

"It's a weapon that's too sophisticated for you," Jordyn said, her tone noxious with contempt.

"Now now," Rosario grinned. "How about you Titan?"

"I'm Titan, I just thought it was a good career and I wanted to make my father a lot of money and um… I'm really strong. Decent with a sword." Titan said simply, with a smile.

"Pip?"

"I don't owe you a reason," Pip mumbled, scowling at the back of her arm.

"At least tell us what you're good at," Rosario grinned, as if he was going to enjoy tormenting Pip. It was a bit mean, really. "What's going to get you that eight?"

"I can fight."

Rosario looked like he wanted to say something, but thankfully let it be. We were supposed to kill each other _after_ the final eight.

"And you, Lillee? You've been pretty quiet?"

"Well, I'm Lillee, as you know," though Lillee had talked to me quite a lot this was the most she had talked since training had started. It was almost as if she had decided that keeping quiet was the best course of action. "I trained because… Well, I wanted to be part of something greater than myself. And I'm good with a sword. I'm also a good swimmer… District Four and all."

"What about you, Yveaux?"

"Well, you know the name," I faux saluted. "And…" I'd never considered why I'd volunteered. It just kind of happened. I had no other path in life. It wasn't something I'd reflected deeply on, and considering the life or death nature something I outright didn't want to reflect deeply on. "My biggest strength?" I looked to Jordyn and Lillee in turn. "I would probably say my stamina… or so I've heard."

The whole table either expressed their disgust or sighed exasperatedly at the same time. It was nice to be a unifying figure for once – in my household, things were quite different.

* * *

Lunch had actually allowed the Careers to be amicable with each other, and though we felt more tight knit as a group everyone once again seemed to wander off and do their own thing when lunch had ended. So I ended up 'intimidating' Lily. And somehow that ended up with us making out.

She wasn't half a bad kisser. She knew how to balance gentleness with a fire, passion and longing. I cupped her ass and held her closer as our tongues seemed to desperately grasp for dominance, though the sound of the fun killer ruined the mood.

"… Yveaux, seriously?"

I pulled away from Lily, who looked equally as embarrassed as I did. Seemed like making out in a shoddy, hand crafted shelter that one of the lower District kids had tried to craft earlier was not a good idea when you wanted to be subtle. The whole Career group peered in, joined by two other faces: Lily's sour faced District partner and the trainer that ran the shelter station.

"I will remind you," he said in his obnoxious Capitolian accent. "We have strict guidelines when it comes to tribute contact during the pre-Games-"

"It's okay," Rosario patted the man's shoulder in a tone that suggested nothing about this was okay. "We understand why this is wrong and it won't happen again. I'll take it from here, Sir."

"Look…" Lily started talking but was silenced by Rosario's glare.

"I should get going too," Raleigh said, looking at Lily as if she were dirt on his shoe. When he started walking away Lily immediately sprang into action:

"Raleigh, it was just for fun!" She chased after him, though Raleigh didn't seem to be interested in her excuses, virtually batting her away when she tried to touch his arm. I winced just watching it, and then realised I had to deal with my own troupe of angry allies.

"Seriously, what is it with the District Fours?" I watched as Rosario's gaze flickered contemptuously to an ashamed looking Lillee. "First your District partner decides to buddy up and play house with the Seven girl," I wondered if that meant Lillee had followed my course with the Seven girl… lesbians were _hot_. "Now I see you locking lips with a girl you're supposed to kill?"

"Well-"

"No excuses," Rosario snapped. "I expected better from Careers. Half of you aren't even from the academy and those that are play nice with the District kids or even… even whore themselves around. Next I'll find out that sexual deviants have infiltrated this alliance. My father often tells me about the kinds of people they let into the academy nowadays."

Jordyn glared at Rosario and seemed to have enough with what he had to say. "Hey. Sexual deviant here. If you're going to be leader you need to accept that only our skills matter and not our personal lives. If you want us to gel together you can not be an asshole."

There was a moment of silence where Rosario and Jordyn glared at each other. For a moment, I wondered if the alliance was going to collapse before the Games even began. Then Titan did what he did best – sheepishly break the tension.

"… Does it count if you like both?"

Rosario rolled his eyes and turned to me.

"You lock lips with our enemies one more time I'll pin you closely and snugly together with a spear," he said, observing all of us in turn. I had a feeling he was the leader who operated with his teams' fear over their love and respect. "Any of us break ranks this year I will personally make sure you all die. Slowly. Capiche?"

Everybody mumbled awkwardly, though I'm not sure if any of us meant it. Even I kind of didn't and it wasn't my life's mission to make the Career leader's life hell.

"We pair up now to keep on eye on deviance and distraction," Rosario glanced at Titan. "You pair up with me. Pip and Jordyn can bond over their lack of Careerness. Fours, you pair up." He cracked his knuckles slightly. "But remember I'll be keeping an eye on _all_ of you."

He grabbed the much taller and bulkier Titan's arm and led him away. Pip and Jordyn glanced at each other awkwardly and then followed suite. I looked at Lillee, who lost her temper now no attention was on her. She moved to the station where Lily and I were awkwardly making out and kicked it in.

"You shouldn't do that," I joked. "It was comfortable to make out in."

She laughed awkwardly. "Do you take anything seriously?"

"No," I admitted. "Makes life – and death – easier that way."

"I wish I could be like that."

"Why aren't you?"

Lillee looked me in the eye. "I guess I'm just wired to realise that sometimes things in life are serious. I can't ignore that… But I can change it."

"I wish I knew what that meant," I smiled. "So… were you making out with the Seven girl?"

"No," Lillee laughed. "Percy and I were just talking and… Well," she shrugged.

"First name basis? Nice."

She glared up at me, though she smiled after the brief flash of disapproval. "Give it up, Yveaux."

I raised my hands. "As you wish, Princess. Any other requests?"

"Actually," Lillee chewed her lip lightly as she contemplated. "Yes. Look, I'll be frank with you. We're meant to keep an eye on each other but I will speak to some of the other tributes again, including Percy. I want you to not just turn a blind eye but to make sure nobody else notices." I opened my mouth. "And I want you to not question why. Just trust that nobody will get hurt."

Maybe Lillee was just really lonely and wanted somebody to talk to. I was suspicious – who wouldn't be? – but I wasn't sure if much harm could really come from letting her chat to a few other weaklings.

"Sure," I gave a thumbs up and my most charming smile.

"Thanks Yveaux," Lillee smiled. "I owe you one."

* * *

 **Roxanne Maxwell, District 6, 18**

"Maxwell!" I glanced up from the distillery station; purified water slowly dripped into a beaker as Kai approached me. I had initially thought of Kai as someone who was sullen and melancholy – that's definitely how he appeared after he was reaped. But I supposed being culled into a fight for the death would do that to anybody.

Over the past few days, I'd gotten to know the real Kai – the Kai that wasn't ( _as_ ) plagued with the shock of being sent into the death match. Even after the ordeal we witnessed during the chariot rides, the friendship we'd formed had forged a new boldness and optimism in him, which he carried close to his heart.

I'd learned he had a sense of humour. It was immature at times, but always cheeky and illuminating when things felt at their most grim. I'd learned he was also spontaneous, for better or for worse. Yet despite this brighter, more flickering side to his personality the melancholy undertones remained, or the roots of them: he had an older, gentler brother who he seemed to adore, who he seemed to want to give his life to protect. Who he would kill to get home to, if need be.

"You got a status report?" I said, letting a few drops of water drip onto the purity test that had been laid out on the stall. The blue line told me it was all clear of bacteria or any other nasty chemicals. One cool thing about writing about the Hunger Games, and being morbidly obsessed with it, was that you learned all the necessary survival gimmicks when you did your research.

"I may or may not have found out some pretty interesting things," Kai said, leaning on the station.

"Hit me," I smiled. Another change in Kai was that I had inspired him to try and take control of his own destiny. To teach him that sometimes life really was like fiction, and that the characters we had before us weren't too different from the characters that we found jotted down in fiction. Once we'd discovered the niches of their characters, we could manipulate their stories.

"Careers – one word: dysfunctional."

I glanced over at the Careers who all seemed to be split up. The One and Two boys were sparring with swords, the blonde boy more agile, but the Two boy seemed more comfortable with a sword in hand, and was visibly much stronger. I wouldn't want his hands around my throat. The One and Two girls, the natural lone wolves, were practicing their running skills at the circuit station. The Fours were chatting amicably as they tested their knowledge absently at a mutt identification station.

The Four guy didn't catch my eye that much. He was what I identified as a _secondary Career_ – a Career that was, sure, intimidating, deadly and competent. But he was not set to be the primary antagonist. That role was reserved for the One boy.

The Four girl was different. She should be a secondary Career in theory, but there was something in her dedicated expression or her kind features that made me feel like she was going to offer a plot twist nobody saw coming.

"Of course they are," I stroked my chin a little. "Let me guess. One clashed with the Fours?"

"As a matter of fact, yes…" Kai glanced at me once. "You're scary sometimes, do you know that?"

"I'd say I'm harmless, but the pen is mightier than the sword," I grinned. "What happened?"

"Started when the Four girl was caught talking friendly with the Seven girl," I glanced at Lillee again, then at the District Seven girl, who was at the swimming station. I forgot she was a volunteer. She definitely seemed adept at the stations she had flirted with through the day. Some probably didn't mark her as a threat because of her saccharine disposition, but I did. I wondered what they had been talking about, and if that fed into my theory that the Four girl had an ace up her sleeve. "The District One guy wasn't happy. Then he catches her District partner playing tonsil tennis with the Ten girl."

"What?" I snorted so loudly the District Eleven boy who was fiddling around the mechanics station close by dropped a cog, startled. I gave him an apologetic look, but I was never ashamed of making my presence and my emotions known. I'd virtually written my father's life story down to make it a bestseller – I wasn't just an open book figuratively. "She looked impressionable but that is a whole new level of… Wow."

I made my way over to the berry identification station, Kai in close pursuit.

"Yeah, and worst thing about it is her District partner seemed _real_ pissed." He pulled an awkward yet sarcastic facial expression. "I don't think they're talking anymore."

"Intriguing," I skimmed through a berry identification manual. There were a lot of them. "The Careers are finding tension between the ones who hold the Career culture in a more traditional light and the 'killers just wanna have fun' bunch. And the Tens are bickering. If I didn't pin the girl as a potential Bloodbath I'd be even more intrigued."

"What about the guy?"

"Depends where he got those scars from," I said to Kai. "Do you think he got them from a simple walk in the park?"

"Well…" Kai changed subject. "You think he has a crush on his District partner?"

"Huh?" I glanced over at him working alone at a weapon crafting station. He seemed to be creating a shabby spear out of wood and vines. "I mean, I doubt it. He was probably just annoyed at her for being so stupid as to lock lips with a Career and expect no strings to be attached. Even if he did, nothing will ever come of it."

"Aw, are you a cynic, Maxwell?"

I laughed awkwardly. "The whole romance in the Hunger Games thing is an area where fiction and reality do clash. I don't really fall for the star crossed lovers bullshit."

"But it has happened a few times. It happened last year."

"Being battered to a death by a hurricane. Romantic." I shook my head slightly. "We project our wants into fiction, especially with romance," I explained. "That's why there's always that warm, glowy, not very realistic happy ending. In fiction two people can win the Games together, somehow, and have their happy ever after. That doesn't happen in real life." I shrugged. "Not with Darius and Mirane, not with Katniss and Peeta, not with nobody."

"I suppose. But it can be useful, if he does have a crush, if we want to… I don't know, use it against him, them, someone else somehow."

"That's how you think of it," I smiled. "Think of how you can utilise it, and nothing beyond that. Drama and relationships in the Hunger Games are artificial – it all just stems from survival instinct."

Kai looked like he wanted to say something, his features faltered a little bit, but he decided what he wanted to say went best unsaid.

"Anyway," I grabbed a berry, making sure it's not poisonous. "You did good. Have a treat."

I flicked it and laughed when he actually managed to catch it in his mouth. He made a few barking noises, which prompted the nearest trainer to look at us both as if we were deluded.

"So… I know I said the pen is mightier than the sword, but we should try learn how to use a weapon, it's unfair for you to spend precious training time being my intel gatherer," I said, noting that the stations were free from a few Careers. I didn't want to be in their presence for now. "We need to learn how to fight, even just a little, if we're to have any chance. Knives are going to be by far the easiest weapon, although maybe we can learn some ranged weapons tomorrow."

"Do you know how to work them?" Kai asked.

"I've read up on a tonne of different weapons," I shrugged as we reached the station. I fingered the blade of one pretty looking knife before picking it up. "But I should get to grips with the practice. Should we ask the trainer to help us learn how to get the show on the road and maybe we can spar?"

Kai smiled at me. "Sure thing."

* * *

It was a relief when training was finally over. Being stuck in a room with kids who you could kill or be killed by, no matter how desensitised to the Hunger Games I had become, gave the room an unnerving aura. That and the fact that almost every single one of us would be dead this time next month.

… Possibly, most likely, including me.

I was eerily silent over dinner, scribbling in a notepad as I enjoyed the Capitol's baked delicacies and haute cuisines. Kai would occasionally try engaging me in conversation, but I would reply with one-word answers.

I'd always wanted a legacy. Life didn't matter too much to me – life was just a shot at building your legacy, why care about the short-term spark when you could create an eternal flame?

As long as your legacy was enforced in some way, you were still alive. In many ways I could deal with the loss of my parents, because they both felt alive in my heart. But the moment every trace of you disappeared completely, you weren't only dead. You were just nothing.

That's why I wrote the book – to not just solidify my own legacy, but my parents' too. I couldn't bear it if any one of us were just erased from the world's consciousness entirely, if our life was just a meaningless exercise. So while death didn't terrify me (even though anxiety over how painful my way out would be was certainly there) that wasn't what hurt. That wasn't what I found tragic. Being forgotten and having lived for nothing did.

I had spent my whole life from the moment my father died researching, writing and networking to build my own legacy and to cement his. To make sure that what happened to so many thousands didn't happen to me. And Markoz, with one pluck of the hand, made that whole house of cards collapse.

"Well, bedtime for me!" The escort who changed everything said, smiling at us both and standing up. "I've spent a whole busy day rendezvousing with all sorts of sponsors and, to be frank, it is draining. And I have to do it all again tomorrow. You two will also be busy, so I do advise you get some shut eye."

"Yeah, I'm exhausted," Kai said, stretching in his chair and standing up. "I guess I'll shower and then sleep. Night, Maxwell."

"Night, Kai," I smiled.

As Avoxes collected the mountains of dishes and platters, immigrating and emigrating from the room, I jotted down in my notepad about all the alliances that had formed and, as futile as it seemed, possible ideas for a sequel to my novel. If I lived to tell the tale I wouldn't even need to do any research, because I'd lived the whole experience.

And the experience ahead seemed promising. I scanned the list of alliances: There were the Careers. There were the Five, Eight and Nine girls and the Five boy and Thirteen boy had seemed to bandy together. They were all interesting alliances.

Still, I had expected more. I supposed the alliances would solidify tomorrow and today everybody was finding their feet and testing the water too much to form anything solid.

Still, I jotted one thing down that refused to leave my head:

 _District Four girl and District Seven girl?_

They'd only spoken once. And it was unlikely there was something there. But if they had been talking for a prolonged period of time, what if there was something in the works? What if Rosario's insufferable attitude really did lead to the alliance imploding before it had even begun?

"It's almost midnight," I jumped and looked up at Kai, who was fresh out of the shower and wearing a dressing gown that seemed to be made out of Eight's freshest cotton. "You really should be sleeping right now."

"I'm just… I'm always planning for something," I smiled, chewing at the end of my pen as he made his way to the dining room chair closest to me.

"I saw you with that in the Justice Building," Kai said inquisitively. "Most people bring family heirlooms or something… I have my mother's engagement ring. Being a Victor's daughter, you should have a lot of money." He paused. "So why not bring something better?"

"I don't need something physical to remember my family, or my home," I said. "Words for me do a much better job of that. Plus I want to keep everything jotted down." Kai swiftly intercepted my notepad, but before I protested he opened it on the page where I had jotted down the alliances. "You could have opened that on my sequel plans."

"Sequel plans? You're planning one? Even if you lived to release it, I'll be dead. So I think I am deserving of spoilers," Before I opened my mouth Kai scanned the page and further inquired: "You really think the Four and Seven girl have got something going on?"

"Yes and yes," I paused. "I know it's stupid because it's a sequel that'll never be written…" I exhaled. "I haven't gone to bed because I can't sleep. I just always think about these Games, how I could die, my life… my legacy."

Kai ran his hands through his damp and messy black hair, before using them to cup his thin jaw.

"I wish I could say something to comfort you."

"I guess I'm the wordsmith here," I joked.

"I can't promise you you won't die," Kai said, squeezing my hand reassuringly. "But I can promise you that as long as I'm alive, I'll be here. And I might not be able to put it into any kind of prose, but I'm going through the same thing. I'm scared too. And you're not alone."

That did make me feel better. I wasn't an outwardly emotional person, but I felt touched.

"Thank you."

Kai prised the pen from my hands. "Plus you forgot an alliance. Intel and all, right?"

"Who?" I asked curiously.

Somehow, the words he wrote were more poignant than anything I felt I had written in a long time – just eight of them. My mild smile, despite my muscles' reluctance to show it, widened even more. It was the most I'd smiled since the success of my book. For a long time I had felt alone. And weirdly, as awful as the Games were, I didn't feel that way quite as much now. It didn't compensate for what was ahead, but it was enough:

 _Allies: Kai Chiroshi and Roxanne Maxwell, District Six._

* * *

 **You've met all of the tributes! Plus the second POV for a few more. All tributes will be getting two POV's (or... maybe more?). You know what this means: polls! It will be the first of two pre-Games ones (there'll be a pre-Bloodbath one that'll be closed).**

 **Also, now the community is back, feel free to participate in the forum even if you're a stranger (link in profile). Everyone is kind and doesn't bite - much. Chat about your day in the chat, contribute to the story's discussion or if you have a burning question ask me on the Q &A thread (I'm more likely to respond there than I am to reviews, sorry)!**

 ** _~Toxic_**


	10. Rebels With a Cause

**Just an author's note. As you know, POV's are strictly chronological but that isn't always the case (hopefully, in future, you'll be able to discern when that is and isn't the case). So this is just to say Xavier's and Jordyn's POV's overlap, chronologically.**

* * *

 **Batiste Grayson, District 8, 14**

The Hunger Games – or the concept of them, in my head, anyway – were always something I found fun in the most morbid sense. I wasn't dumb enough to think that was the reality. I was reminded of the reality every year when I saw kids from my own town or neighbourhood get brutally killed on television (Micah's mother, the boy who died in the two-hundred and third Games, worked with my own). I was reminded every year when I was the one who was up for Reaping.

But the glass window of television did make it feel much, much different to real life. The Reaping was awful enough, before I had totally humiliated myself.

The train ride was awful enough without being severely burned.

Being styled was awful enough before rebels infiltrated the premises and I was terrified my life was on the line.

The cheering and rowdy crowds and my bad outfit made the chariot rides awful enough. Then the President had to start the Bloodbath days early, the rebels killed so close to me a stream of their blood nearly made it to my feet. The Capitol did like to throw small luxuries at us, maybe it was their way of keeping us placid, but it didn't compensate for any of it. Not one percent.

Arabella cried so profusely after the chariot ride she had to be helped by Peacekeepers into the living quarters. Rumour had it the District Eleven boy had wet himself.

I'd given Arabella her own space, which I think she wanted. She cried a lot. Truth be told, I wanted my own space too. And something about Arabella really didn't _mesh_ right with me. I didn't doubt she was a nice person because she was sweet, which I appreciated in an older District partner, but I had a feeling that if we were both at school we wouldn't really talk to each other. I think she'd even turn her nose up at me. She seemed like that kind of prep. We were brought together by circumstance.

But she made an effort over mealtimes, at least. My first day of training had been kind of productive. I acknowledged it was time to treat the Games not as a game, but as a competition – a real fight where my life was more than at risk. I'd tried to learn a few real survival knick-knacks and get used to using a weapon. Hopefully the second day of training would be just as productive.

"Hey," I smiled at Arabella over breakfast. "How did your first day of training go?"

I realised last night over dinner we hadn't really discussed training. Arabella was too busy discussing fashion with Fi-Fi. Mirane had been silent since the whole chariot ordeal, although I couldn't help but observe sometimes she and Arabella would exchange suspicious glances at one another. I wondered what that was about.

"It was good," Arabella smiled, taking a sip of orange juice. "I made some new allies. Friends, even."

"Oh, who?"

"Nine girl and Five girl."

"I presume they have names?"

Arabella regarded me slightly different. "Uh, yeah. Tesni and… Alina? I think. Something like that," she shrugged, pinching a pain au chocolat. When I opened my mouth to speak to her she virtually thrust a vat of steaming hot chocolate towards me. I immediately grappled for it to hold it in place, conditioned to be far from fond of boiled liquids after the incident in the train. Arabella giggled at my reaction.

"It's not funny," I mumbled, blushing.

"Oh Batiste. I'm sorry. I just… It was the way you… I apologise."

"So how did you make the allies? Are they tough?" I asked her.

"The Five girl is a mechanic, so that could be useful," Arabella smiled. "And the Nine girl is just really nice. I guess I'm not looking for tough allies necessarily, just people who are nice and I can depend on. They had already allied and seemed really nice so I approached them, talked to them over lunch and… hey presto."

"I guess I'd rather, I dunno, a tough ally who I feel would protect me."

Arabella finished her pain au chocolat, looking at me sceptically. "But the tough kids team up with the tough kids. Do you think the Careers are going to buddy up with you?"

As I poured in some milk, I couldn't help but feel stung. I decided to take it all in good humour:

"You sure know how to make a guy going into a death match feel better."

"You know it's not like that, it's just, you know, you're so little and cute!" She said in a voice that was almost crooning. "It's just-" Fi-Fi suddenly entered the room, her morning hair giving her the impression she had been dragged through a hedge. Arabella's voice raised an octave as she greeted her: "Good morning Fi-Fi! You have to tell me what eye make-up you're using, because it's wonderful! When I wake up in the morning I usually look a mess. You usually should take your make up off before you go to sleep but at least now you kind of _own_ looking like a mess."

Did Arabella have a knack for learning how to insult people without them even regarding it, or by insulting someone and sounding like she was complimenting them as she did it?

Fi-Fi didn't disappoint in her response. She sat down, pouring herself a coffee. "You probably couldn't afford it, sweetheart."

"You'd be surprised," Arabella smiled. "Plus if – in fact, lets be optimistic right Batiste?" She smiled at me. "When I win the Games what won't I be able to afford?"

"A happy and stable personal life," Mirane mumbled to herself. When we both perked up she laughed uncomfortably. "Anyway, you guys should focus on training. Make sure you know the basics on most weapons – focusing on one can be dangerous because you might not get your hands on it, but a knife is always the safest bet. Learn survival tidbits. Maybe get into an alliance, Batiste. You know the drill."

Arabella smiled at me.

"There are some nice kids your age, like the Eleven boy," she ruffled my hair as if I were a baby or something. I wondered if she knew I hated that. "I mean, don't you want someone to spend quality time with you? To be there for you when you die?"

I stopped and paused. It hurt to be so blunt about my own prospects, and I would try to fight and make it… But… Could I really be so lonely in a vast, dangerous arena?

* * *

If I were to have a shot of surviving I realised there was something I needed to be – something I could be. Maybe I couldn't be some big, bulky Career, but I could be entertaining. Nowadays, isn't that what mattered? It wasn't something I can depend on to sail me to victory, but it was something I could depend on to keep me alive that little bit longer.

An alliance was always a primary source of entertainment. From it rose friendship, something more to lose, something more to gain and – the root of all drama – conflict.

What if that was what I could offer to a Career? I eyed the Careers in turn. The concept of an intra-outer Career District romance would definitely generate interest for the Hunger Games. If only I could propose it to some of them… I couldn't see the Four girl anywhere, and I wasn't going to do something as icky as kiss another guy, so I approached the District One and Two girls who were hanging out at the sword station.

The Two girl looked too intimidating to even approach at all, with her thin and narrow nose and slit like, serpent eyes. The One girl wasn't a stunner either, especially in comparison with the supermodels that usually came from District One, but thinking about kissing her didn't make me want to projectile vomit or hide into my own skeleton.

"Hey," I approached her and smiled, extending a hand. "The name is Batiste."

She raised an eyebrow, naturally sceptical. "I admire your confidence," she said, putting the sword down and shaking my hand. "I mean, you know, I am supposed to kill you and all."

"But it doesn't _have_ to be that way," I gave her my most lopsided grin. "You already have the survival skills, I'm guessing, I mean you volunteered," she looked at me bemusedly. "But this is a game, remember. That's why this whole pre-game charade exists, because this is about entertainment. So I'm pitching you a plot-"

Uh-oh. Snake lady stood beside her ally, significantly taller, those slits focused on me. When she spoke, it even sounded like a hiss. "Pitching a plot? You sound like the Six bitch."

I glanced over to Roxanne, who was talking to her District partner as they crafted a fire together and talked amicably.

I really needed an ally.

"Well, what about forbidden love? I'm the cute little underdog, you're the Career hero," I made sure to specifically gesture to the One girl. "We obviously can't be open about it because… You know," I looked at the Two girl. "Your um… Ally. So it's all secret and you sneak off to look after me. It's tragic, it's romantic, it's high stake, the Gamemakers will want to keep us alive as a result."

The One girl's expression didn't change. The Two girl sniggered very audibly, making me blush.

"Aren't you the kid that pissed himself?" The Two girl asked.

"N-No," I tried to keep my anger in. "I'm not him! I'm bolder than that! And cuter!" Being compared to the chubby faced, yet pale as death Eleven boy did hurt my ego a little bit.

"Cuter in a kid way," the One girl said. "You're young enough to be my son… Well, if I was a freak or accident, but I did read about one four year old kid becoming a mother in the Capitol."

"Isn't that a myth perpetuated to keep little girls from boys?" The Two girl conversed with her, both of them keen to ignore me.

"But I _am_ cute."

"You could look like Caecilius Norton, kid, and you won't appeal to me," the One girl said matter-of-factly.

"What does that mean?"

"It means it's none of your business and you should get going," the Two girl said, turning around and unsheathing a thin yet deadly looking sword. I saw her grin in its reflection. "Rosario is always pissed enough with other tributes trying to get too friendly with the Careers. He'll make you suffer if you hang around like a bad smell. If you leave right now," she turned around and stroked the fabric of my shirt curiously. "I can make it quick and painless. How's that for entertainment, cutie?"

I gulped, my palms sweating as my stomach felt like a weight that threatened to make me drop to the floor.

"I think I'll go now," I said, turning around and walking away.

… In my head, I had it all figured out. I'd played the Games in my imagination with my friend Tesu over and over. I was supposed to look bold and confident when I was reaped, not be laughed at. I understood how the Gamemakers' minds worked more than tributes that were way older than me, and yet that wasn't enough. I was just left adrift.

How could I be entertaining without somebody to talk to?

… And furthermore, Arabella was right. How could I cope with the loneliness of potentially being solitary in the arena for a couple of days? How could I cope with the prospect of dying alone, without friends, without my siblings, without my mother or my grandparents there to tell me it'd all be okay?

I glanced at other tributes in the arena. I had liked Roxanne Maxwell's book, and I think she kind of got the Hunger Games in a way I did – a weird interest in them despite knowing how fucked up they were. But she seemed comfortable in her own bubble with her District partner. Even the Eleven boy, the pants wetter, avoided eye contact I tried to make with him when I ambled over to the herbal medicine station he was utilising.

It felt like nobody wanted to be with me or talk to me. I bit back tears as I suddenly realised just how young and just how alone I was. And I had a feeling that wasn't going to change, not anytime soon.

* * *

 **Lillian Collier, District 10, 17**

Raleigh hadn't spoken a word to me over dinner, nor had he spoken to me during breakfast this morning. As soon as training started when we entered together, he immediately strode across the room, to whatever station was furthest from me. It left me feeling upset and most of all confused.

We seemed to get on. He was a bit quiet, but I had thought I'd broken down those walls. Now they just been re-erected as well as having been set on fire so that I couldn't come close to brushing against them without being scorched. It was a shame he'd decided to leave me drifting on the day I considered asking him formally if he'd liked to be allies, but at least by this point I knew there would be a definitive answer: no.

It did, however, leave me considerably puzzled. I didn't get how kissing Yveaux upset him so much. We joked about flirting, but he didn't really like me, did he? I never got the impression he did at all, until perhaps now. But even then I kind of doubted it. Maybe he just found what I had done to be impulsive, and maybe to be a bit of a betrayal to our District. And it was dumb. But I didn't think it warranted such a cold shoulder.

But in the Games you were so lonely. And Raleigh, while nice, was no perfect shoulder to cry on. Neither was Yveaux, but he laughed, he openly flirted and he was upfront about his intentions. There was no reason or rhyme to what led us to make out – I wasn't scheming. It was flattering to get sexual attention from a Career, I thought it'd be fun and there'd be no harm in kissing him. Yet here I was. Alone.

Considering I had nobody else to turn to, I considered talking to Yveaux about it. But what would be the point? If the One boy saw us interacting again I was positive he would kill us both. There was no chance of an alliance, because even if Rosario hadn't threatened him Yveaux seemed like a hit and quit kind of guy. The moment he had me alone in one of our quarters for an hour, he'd ditch me. I bet he could kill me and would have no remorse about it.

I watched him spar with his District partner at the spear section. They were both insanely good, spear shafts clashing against each other at hurricane speed and strength. There would be no harm in approaching Raleigh and apologising, was there?

I sucked up my pride and approached the scar ridden, tousle haired mutt trainer with a smile.

"Howdy partner," I said, putting on a cliché District Ten accent. He continued to put together a puzzle, unperturbed. "You know, it's rude to ignore somebody."

Raleigh glanced up at me, obviously pretty damn annoyed. "Do you know what else is rude?"

"Chewing with your mouth open?" I joked.

"Please don't think joking about it makes lip locking a Career any less irresponsible," Raleigh sighed. "In my family, duty is everything. When you just go off and make out with the enemy like that," I could tell he resented even talking to me. "I don't get it. This is a guy who would rip your head off without thinking twice, how could you be so stup-"

"He was good looking, it was fun," I eventually snapped, folding my arms together. I had tried to extend an olive branch, tried to reach out to him and patch it up, but he had smacked me with it. Now if there was any animosity, it could be with him. I wasn't going to coddle Raleigh any further. "Get over it."

Raleigh shrugged nonchalantly. "Fine, I will."

With that he walked away, joining the District Eight girl at the medical station as if nothing had happened. I watched after them for a second, observing as they seemed to click and talk immediately. She was way prettier than I was, with her dark brown curls, ivory skin and wide blue eyes. I must have looked dumb, just staring at them. I felt even more humiliated when she turned to face me, made direct eye contact and gave me a small and saccharine wave, almost as if she were taunting me.

Now I was all alone because I did one stupid thing. It didn't help that Raleigh was so stubborn in his disdain. But maybe I could have been more patient. And now, unlike so many other tributes, I felt as if I were diving into these Games completely alone.

I turned, brushing tears from the corner of my eyes. I held it together until I went to the axe wielding station and discovered I wasn't even strong enough to lift the weapon, let alone use it. I hoped no eyes were on me as it clattered to the floor and I almost fell with it, descending totally into tears of frustration and upset.

"Hey there," a gentle voice said. "Look, is everything okay? Do you want to talk about it?"

The fact the voice sounded so nice and caring made me feel even more humiliated and I tried to hold it all together. I quickly wiped my face with my sleeve, but knew when I turned to face the Nine boy the evidence was all over my blotchy cheeks. However, he had an inherently likeable vibe to him. His kind, dark eyes mirrored his dark skin, and his wavy, slightly messy long hair complimented his boyish smile.

"Oh, don't worry about it," I gave a watery smile and struggled to lift the axe back up. The boy helped me, being significantly stronger and almost single handedly putting it back on the weapon rack. "Just, you know, I can be a little dramatic sometimes."

"You are going into a fight to the death," the boy said understandingly. "It's normal – sane, even – to cry about it from time to time. I know I have."

"I guess," I tried to shy away but the boy's kindness almost bordered on forceful, as if he couldn't leave me alone if he knew I was hurting.

"If it makes you feel better, I think only I saw. Everyone is wrapped around in their own little world of training. And I've seen one or two of the others shed tears today. Don't get hung up on it."

"Thanks," I smiled. "I just screw things up. I always have."

"I doubt that's true, but I have time if you want to talk about it," he sat on the weapons rack, managing to balance himself on it. "I told my ally I'd take a while here at weapons training, so here we are."

"Well…" I sighed. "I thought I had an alliance with my District partner," I explained. "Or, at least, that we were building up to one. Then the District Four boy ends up talking to us. Well, more specifically, to me," I look over at Yveaux who strolling around the training centre and reading a manual perplexedly. "He was cute, and you know, I'm human, so I made out with him."

The boy raised his eyebrows. "A _Career_?"

"I know…"

He had a smile that threatened to elevate into a laugh. "Was he good?"

"It's not funny!" I said adamantly, before pausing. "But yeah, he wasn't bad. A little too touchy feely and tonguey."

"Yeah, my District partner talked about the kissing debacle," the boy said. I blushed. "Quite the story. But I don't see why that's a problem. If you impressed him enough you could have wheedled yourself into the best alliance in the whole Games!"

"No, it wasn't like that," I said. "But my District partner took it personally. I know none of us like Careers but he was mighty holier than thou about it all. And now I'm all alone. And I was upset about that," I sat down next to him and sighed. "And to top it all off I'm so weak I can't even pick up an axe. I have no chance in the arena."

"A lot of kids are going into the arena alone," the boy said. "So you're the only one. But if it tears you up that much maybe you'd want to partner up with me and my ally?"

"Who is your ally?"

"Tamal, the District Seven boy. He's nice," another flash of that gentle smile made me feel reassured. "We can go meet him if you want? Or we could wait for the trainer at this station to come back from the toilet or wherever the hell they are and teach you how to hold an axe properly."

"No, I'd like to meet Tamal, I think," I said, immediately reassured – elated even – that I could be in an alliance. It sounded foolish, but I always felt as it loneliness could be as crippling as hunger or the cold. So while the boy was right – many tributes would be going into the arena lonely – that reassured me as little as saying many other tributes could be going into the arena hungry. "I'm Lily, by the way."

"Silas," the boy said, shaking my hand firmly and hopping off the rack. I followed suit. "He's over by the camouflage station, although truth be told we haven't really been using it to camouflage that much."

"What else can you use it for?" I asked. I was answered as we traipsed to the station. The Seven boy was crouched, using his fingers to decorate a blank canvas that had been spread out on the floor. He'd basically used the colours as a painting, so that a forest landscape was spread out before us. I looked at it with awe.

"That's gorgeous," I said.

"Thanks," the Seven boy looked up at me. His skin was dark, his hair shaggy and the kindness in his smile rivalled Silas'. "It was something I just did on a whim."

"Don't be modest," I said, sitting down and inspecting it. "The way you use your fingers to masterfully create that kind of brushwork, the lack of abrasion, the lighting…"

"You're a painter?" Silas' eyebrows raised.

"I mean, it's just a hobby," I explained, blushing. It was something I just did in my own time, I didn't even really tell my friends about it. It wasn't as cool to talk about as boys or clothes. "But I guess."

"Coincidental. That's what Tamal and I bonded over."

Tamal smiled. "What do you paint? I kind of like to paint… natural things. Guess that's particularly useful when you want to camouflage yourself."

"Oh, a little bit of everything," I said, turning to Silas. "What about you? What do you paint?"

Silas looked a little sheepish. "Well, if it's just for fun… Just boring landscapes," his eyes trailed to the floor slightly. "But I like art to have meaning. After the past couple of Games and all the Capitolian brutality I'd witnessed… Well, I have to admit I have painted a few things which could've gotten me into some serious trouble with the Peacekeepers."

"Like…" I looked around timidly. Nobody was close by. "Like rebel stuff?"

"You could say that," Silas said, before turning to his ally. "So what do you say, Tamal? She's nice _and_ she paints. Can't hurt to have her in this alliance, right?"

Tamal smiled, standing up. He seemed to go to shake my hand, but upon realising his hands were soaked with paint opted to bow, which I found very interesting. Chivalry like that didn't really exist in Ten, and Tens were stereotypically very well mannered.

"I think it would be an honour," he smiled.

"I mean, if you want to," Silas said, looking over me a little. "I wouldn't want to push you into-"

"Are you kidding?" I smiled, glancing at my two new allies. They weren't people I think I'd talk to much back at home – for one, they were boys. But they were nice regardless. I wondered if Raleigh would be jealous upon hearing of my new allies. "Of course I want to! I'd love to!"

* * *

 **Arran Taron, District 12, 17**

While I had fun taunting her, as I did almost everyone, I didn't mind my District partner. She didn't bother me, kept herself to herself and did her own thing. I never had to talk to her during mealtimes or our free time, and as soon as training started she left me the hell alone. From what I had observed, she spent very little time going over any survival stuff and seemed keen to become a pro at weaponry. That was interesting.

I, meanwhile, knew how to use an assortment of weapons. That was what happened when you made a living out of hunting people. And I knew how to track people, too. But what I didn't know was how to survive a week or two in a forest, or a dessert, or in an arctic landscape. So that was where I was investing most of my energy.

But every now and then I would be lulled to practice with knives, or with my favourite weapon – a bow. It was irrational, but I liked to remind myself that I could still be adept at them, that those years of hunting and killing had paid off for something.

Even in situations that I was meant to be safe in, such as the pre-Games events (though, in light of recent episodes I was unsure if they _were_ ) I still felt uncomfortable without a weapon. My brother used to hate it when he discovered there was a knife in my boot or a gun smuggled in a capsule on my belt. But then again, he hated me. He blamed me for our father's death and for the deaths of many others. The former was debatable, the latter…

I smirked as I released each arrow, watching them almost uniformly sink into bullseye after bullseye. Even the moving dummies found themselves skewered. I was only playing around for fifteen minutes before the lunch bell rang, then with a cold smirk I walked away and thrust the bow into the arms of a very confused trainer.

The vibe in the cafeteria was different. With the exception of the Careers, tributes were much more splintered or fractured, and if they did sit with anyone it would be the comfort of their own District partner. The Careers were still together, but were joined by tables of other alliances: the Ten girl had linked with the Nine and Seven boys. Her District partner had joined the growing alliance that consisted of the Five, Eight and Nine girls. The Five boy and the Thirteen boy, a strange pairing, spoke conspicuously between each other and the two District partners that did remain attached – the District Six's – chatted over mouthfuls of tuna pasta.

I had a feeling they could be nuisances later. The Six girl sent her little bitch around the training centre every now and then to nose on the other tributes. He was usually subtle, but he wasn't quite unassuming enough for me to not notice him watching me. Perhaps it would be best to kill them in the Bloodbath before they had any tricks up their sleeves. The Six girl's dad, who was a victor, was burnt alive in the eighth Quarter Quell by a dragon. Maybe it would be symbolic if I set her on fire, too.

I left my train of thought as the Avox serving food tapped my arm, as if to ask me what I wanted. I lazily gestured to a sandwich, and had it accompanied with some fries. Thankfully, with tributes forming conglomerates, I could find a table where I could sit alone. Yesterday I had to sit with the District Eight boy, who spent time trying to convince me that he too could use a bow. He couldn't.

As soon as I sat down I was immediately bothered.

"Hi, I'm Percy!" The girl said, smiling at me. I'd already noticed her before. It was hard not too – she was quite muscular and physically imposing for a girl. "I'm sure you've seen me around before."

"I haven't," I said. It was a half lie. You noticed every tribute, in one-way or another. But I kept myself to myself and beyond briefly assessing who would be easy or difficult to kill, and I deemed she'd be difficult-ish, I made sure to explicitly dehumanise tributes, the way I had learned to so easily dehumanise everyone else over the years. She was just a gender and a District to me.

"Oh," she sounded disappointed, but seemed to put herself onto a new track: "Well, I am here to make a proposal."

"I know I'm handsome, but the answer is going to have to be no sweetheart," I smiled at her.

For once the sunshine and rainbows aura faltered and her eyes narrowed at me. "It's not like _that_. Well, I just thought, I was looking for other tributes that seemed tough," she shrugged. Something in her tone told me she was trying to bait me into something – and it was working. "I thought maybe I could approach some of the tougher looking guys, the Five and Ten boy maybe, but nah, they already buddied up. Everyone else is either weak or a Career. But you looked good with those weapons earlier. You look tough, too. Not as tough as me, perhaps."

"I am tougher than you."

"Lets have a bet," she put her tray down and looked me in the eye. "I beat you at this arm wrestle and you have to join my alliance. You win the bet…" She thought for a second. "And I'll let you kill me when the Games start."

I chortled. "Seriously?" I wasn't sure if I wanted to be allies with this girl. "Has anybody told you you're a very compulsive idiot?"

"I volunteered for this thing, of course people have," she said casually before offering me her fist. "Show me what you've got, big boy."

I decided if I were to win any bet, I'd win it my favourite way: by playing dirty. After all, she didn't specify there'd be rules to the arm wrestle. My hand darted and gripped her fist, desperately trying to pin it down to the table immediately. She was resilient, even though I could tell I had surprised her.

I gritted my teeth and put all my physical strength – and I thought I had a decent amount, for a chronically underfed Twelve kid – into slamming her arm down onto the table. I could tell the Seven girl was straining, too, especially when I cunningly used a second hand to try and pin down her lone one. To my bemusement she found this whole exercise amusing where I found it frustrating. I could also tell she was significantly stronger.

I held out for a while even though I felt my biceps throb, but a minute in and all my strength eventually collapsed and the Seven girl had my arms slammed onto the table. The Seven girl stood up, cheering, not taking victory exactly well, and to my chagrin also attracting the attention of several other tributes including the Careers.

"Okay, okay, be quiet," I hissed. "Sit down."

She did as she was told, an eternal grin on her face.

"I should clarify, before you call me stupid again, that I only engage in a bet when I know I'm going to win it. So you're joining my alliance?"

"You're naïve," I told her. "Promises exist to be reneged on. But I've only seen you hang out with yourself the past couple of days. What alliance is this, exactly? Who is in it?"

"I thought you didn't notice me," the girl said. When I scowled at her she paused, tentatively. "Look, this alliance is a secret. And it can't get out," she was whispering now. She leaned across to look me in the eye. "It especially can't get to the Careers, okay?"

"What?" I said, confused.

"Blab about what I am about to tell you," the girl picked up a knife and pointed it, so that it were close to my throat. "And I will kill you. Okay?"

"Cute," I smirked. "That is a blunt knife. You're not going to slit my throat with that."

Seven withdrew the knife, blushing.

"Also if you kill me before the gong rings what you have done qualifies as murder as you have no permit or license to kill," weirdly, I did. Although only one to kill lawbreakers, which Seven wasn't – for now. "You shouldn't waste your time making empty threats."

"I don't want to know _how_ you've learned to use weapons," the girl said to me with wide eyes, as if she suddenly were realising I wasn't some sidekick to adventure with but a real, natural born killer. "I just know you can use them. You can teach me. In exchange, I can help you. I am physically stronger than you. I do work in the lumberyards. And I have prepared for this. I wouldn't volunteer otherwise."

"I don't see any benefit in telling the Careers your secret plans," I said. I suppose I kind of did – they would turn on her and anyone else she were scheming with and wipe her out. But they as a group were more powerful than this girl as an individual, so maybe it would help if I used her to wipe out the bigger threat.

"The Four girl isn't one of them. She wants to set up her own group of people who are perhaps just as strong as the Careers. That way, we can work early to kill every one of them."

I kept my façade neutral, even though I was reasonably sceptical.

"Like an anti-Career alliance?"

The Seven girl laughed. "I mean, the Four girl wants that. She used those words actually, but here's how I see it," she continued to speak hushedly. "We wipe out the biggest threats in the game early by working as a single, strong unit that means that there are new bosses in town. If this works, you do know it isn't just a ticket into the final eight, but a ticket into the final four or five, right?"

I appreciated how she approached this with her head, not her heart. I wondered what had deluded the Four girl into doing this. But there was certainly a logical case for it. I was a hunter by nature and profession, so to suddenly feel like the hunted would be a major power stripper. If I could turn the tables and once again hunt the hunters, that could be a major advantage.

It was a major risk… But I was going to seize it.

"Fine," I eventually said. "I will be part of your group. And I'll help you learn how to shoot a bow."

"Thank you!" The Seven girl smiled. "So what's your name? It began with an A, right?"

"I'm Arran," I said, making a mental note that this girl would always just be 'Seven' to me.

"And we'll be teaming up with the Four girl, her name is Lillee," Seven glanced over to the Career table. The Four girl must have felt like the black sheep – unlike the boys, she wasn't talking, laughing and discussing strategy. But her fellow girls also seemed like fish out of water. It was hard to be highlighted as a black sheep when other black sheep surrounded you, a luxury I had never enjoyed. "But this is all top secret. If she makes the Careers think she's one of them, she can strike when they least expect it. They'll be critically weak at that point."

"Smart," I said, leaning back. "I guess she gets something out of this, in clearing away the biggest competitors."

"I think she genuinely sees it as a greater cause," I rolled my eyes. "I mean, if it _is_ the good thing to do and I can survive doing it… I mean, I don't think it's that simple. But we have use for her, and her for us. There's still five Careers though, so we want to keep recruiting."

"Do you have anyone in mind?" I said, finally taking a bite out of my sandwich. The thought of partnering up with more people made me feel even more drained. I did like to be alone – but this plan did seem compelling, doable and could lead me to be Victor. However, I was already thinking about how I could best kill Seven and Four when all was said and done.

Seven shook her head. "Nu-uh. You were the only tribute I felt was competent and intimidating who wasn't in an alliance, and even then I brushed you off until I saw you with that bow. Lillee has some recruitment ideas of their own…"

"Who?"

Seven took a mouthful of food and spoke through it. "I mean, you really want to hear? Her choices are… _interesting_."

* * *

 **Xavier Day, District 5, 18**

When the bell rang and signified it was the end of lunch, Nate immediately stood and gestured that I come with him. I knew that today I would be helping him in his mission to transfer vital information to the Second Mockingjay, but had no idea what that entailed.

It would likely mean that I was putting my life on the line again. I didn't mind. I had nothing to lose – I didn't know if my family were dead or alive. But in my head, I had no life to return to. It was something I'd accepted for a long time from the moment I knew the Peacekeepers in Five would work to rig me into the Games.

They'd purposely signed my death warrant. No doubt the powers that be will ensure, one way or another, I would not get out of this arena unless I had a Rayann Grace Carter level of luck and skill. And if I did win? In theory, all Victors were, if they committed crimes prior to their reaping, pardoned automatically no matter the severity of the crime. But I had a feeling the Capitol, despite the tradition, would not make that pardon for me. And even if they did I would still be in a prison – just one with leather furniture and décor instead of stones and slabs. But that in itself was unlikely.

So if I were to die before the Games even started, giving one last middle finger to the Capitol, so be it. I would be happy to follow any direction Nate gave me. I was prepared to die on this very day.

Nate walked towards one of the training centre's exits, with me in hot pursuit. When he reached the door a Peacekeeper regarded us both with suspicion.

"Thirteen, Five," he said. "Why do you wish to leave?"

"We need the toilet," Nate smiled.

"At the same time?"

" We just had lunch," Nate said matter-of-factly. The Peacekeepers' visors turned to regard me for a little bit.

"Fine," I noticed the edge of scepticism in his voice. "But if you're not back in this space in fifteen minutes I will put the building on lockdown until you're back in here, this is not an excuse to fool around," he turned back to Nate. "Or worse. You would not want to displease the other tributes or the Gamemakers by creating such an inconvenience."

"No, Sir," Nate said with the expression of an angel that was ready to fall.

The Peacekeeper jerked his head and both of us left the training centre into the building's main lobby. Following Nate's orders almost aimlessly, and feeling slightly more anxious after the innocuous brush with the Peacekeepers – I knew what they were far from harmless – I watched as Nate made his way into one of the hallways.

"This is where the toilets are?" Nate said.

"I think so," I said hesitantly. "I usually just go to my quarters." I stopped for a second. "Um, also, they haven't installed a thirteenth floor in this place… Where exactly do you guys sleep?"

Nate laughed bitterly. "Lets not get into that."

Nate seemed to remove what I think was his token – a Mockingjay charm on a neckchain – and seemed to twist and fiddle with it until I saw the lights above us flicker out. Daylight from the slits of window still filtered in and lit the room, but I suddenly found myself being anxious.

"What just happened?"

"I just deactivated every electrical appliance in the proximity," Nate said, immediately making his way to the stairs. "This means that we're not able to make our way to the location via an elevator. Stairs it is," he immediately started striding and I followed after him, sweating profusely. This seemed very rash. Is this the kind of stuff rebels did now?

… Mind you, with very little to lose, could I blame them?

"You're going to have Capitolian technicians panicking," I told him. "And how long can we really disable their security system for? Isn't their network extremely robust and well protected from cyber threats?"

"Yes, usually this little beauty," he thumbed his token. "Can permanently disable security systems. The ones here it can only jar until the technicians reboot it and get the firewall back in place." I wondered what a firewall even was. "But we still have time. I need to find office space two hundred and forty three…"

"What if we bump into a Peacekeeper? They should be littered around."

Nate seemed to grab my arm to prompt me to turn a corner, I did. Then he shoved me into what I think was a cleaning cupboard. The sound of a couple dozen footsteps marching down the corridor was heard. I kept deadly still, barely daring to even breathe as the footsteps faded.

"They're going to be sent to the trace root of the technical disruption," Nate whispered, slowly making his way out of the cupboard. I followed, more hesitantly this time, suddenly aware of my stature, which was not made for sneaking around highly secure Capitolian locations. "And if we bump into any stray ones I am afraid I'm going to shoot them."

I swallowed. While in theory I was prepared to die for this cause, and I had a feeling this mission would be dangerous, every limb in my body was suddenly being guided by survival instinct. Survival instinct was telling me to drop this and just get the hell back to the training centre.

"You have a gun?"

"Of course I do, do you think I'm stupid?"

"How did you get that in here? How could you smuggle your token? What else do you have?"

Nate tapped his nose. "A good rebel never spills his secrets."

Nate's intentions were clear – he was not here to play the Hunger Games. He would probably resign to his fate and die as soon as he entered the arena. But if he were a competitor, he'd scare me. The importance of this mission probably meant the moment District Thirteen had been seized he'd been trained in espionage by the highest ranking rebel officials. He probably knew some things the Careers could only dream of.

And here I was, a lowly rebel that only knew the very basics. And how to blow things up, of course – that just came with the territory. Nate and I darted up the stairwell, until we reached the second floor. There were two double doors on either side, one District Two's living quarters, and the other I presumed to be a labyrinth of bureaucracy and office work.

Nate once again ushered me to stand aside from the door, out of view. I did. Eventually a Peacekeeper calmly opened them and went about his daily business, whistling a tune I did not recognise. Nate was there first – he leapt into action, seized the Peacekeeper from behind and seemed to jab at very particular points on his neck.

The Peacekeeper twitched spasmodically and fell down the ground. Nate grabbed his body and launched it down one flight of stairs.

"He won't remember anything and he'll think he just fell," the Thirteen boy said, looking to me with a glint in his eye.

"You scare me," I told Nate honestly.

"Come on," Nate grabbed my arm and rushed me down the corridor; lights flickered off in our wake as the device disrupted all electrical systems in the proximity. "We don't have much time."

We passed door after door until I noticed a familiar set of numbers.

"Two-four-three!" I said.

Nate seemed overjoyed, opening the door to reveal a very anti-climactic room: it wasn't even an office room, it was virtually a cupboard accompanied with a filing cabinet and a computer. He sat down, removed some kind of chip and inserted it into a computer. Nate's device seemed to boot the device to life. I shut the door behind us and, reacting off instinct, twisted the lock.

"This doesn't look like a room that'd change history," I said sceptically.

"Exactly," the Thirteen boy said, sweeping a hand through his messy red hair. "That's the point. Did you ever speak to Commander Pierce? Before she died?"

"No," I said, before adding: "I wasn't important enough."

"She collected all of the intel she obtained and put it into a single backup system in the backdrive of a computer that would otherwise be untouched," Nate said, typing furiously. The usual coloured monitor was just a weird black screen accompanied by green letters and symbols I didn't understand. Nate spoke as he typed furiously: "As well as that she left backdoor channels into Capitolian systems so further information can be retrieved – it's difficult, of course, but if we can get past the firewall and hit the Capitol where it's hardest-"

Nate's eyes widened, as if he struck his eureka moment.

"What?" I said. He didn't respond, but I saw what looked like a loading screen indicating there was some kind of data transfer occurring. "What's happening?" I repeated.

"We knew the rebel attack was staged," Nate said, eyes wide as he turned to me. "Well I just got hold of confidential hijacking records from The Hive-" that was the Capitol's biggest political prison camp. When I heard I was sent to a prison in District Five and not the hive a year ago, I was relieved. Apparently if you were sent there you were being sent to a place worse than hell. "This goes so much deeper than even I anticipated."

"Can… Can this bring the Capitol down?" I always joined the rebels to be part of something bigger than myself. For the first time, I truly, truly felt that.

"I'm not sure if anything can, but if something can…" I wondered what Nate was reading. He clicked through what seemed to be document after document. "If this got into the right hands…"

"You will somehow… send this to the Second Mockingjay?" I said, confusedly, having never touched a computer. "Like, through electronic messaging?"

Nate laughed as if I'd said something incredibly stupid. "That would leave way too much of a trail," he said. "This contains all the relevant information," he removed the chip he had inserted it and waved it in front of my face. I had the feeling what he held was suddenly much more important than his or my life. "So we deliver it to her."

"I get the feeling we don't just hand it to her," I said tentatively.

"No. She's high up in Capitolian society, she has her own personal network – they aren't rebels, mind you," Nate switched the computer off.

Hope suddenly burned inside me. "So… It wasn't true… There are more of us in the Capitol?"

"I wish. When you're as high up in the Capitol as she is, you have your own personal network. But this isn't something you should concern yourself with," he glanced at me and smiled weakly. "Lets just get out of here, get back to training and you can concern yourself with survival – with seeing the world that you helped create."

"I didn't really do anything," I admitted. "I don't even know what you have done. You're that brilliant. If anything, it should be you who goes home."

He smiled weakly.

"I have nothing to live for," he said. "My family and friends were all killed in the takeover. My sister, my brother, both of my parents… My girlfriend," he sighed emptily. I could tell he had already done his mourning. He was tired of mourning. "Perhaps your family are okay."

"District Five's Peacekeepers like collective punishment," I told him. "I was caught trying to destroy – blow up – a power supplier in District Five. To activate it I had to trigger a lever I had set at home," the last memories before I became a prisoner flashed in my mind, but they were shadowy and vague. I recalled them. "When I get home it was empty… Everything had been ransacked. My parents were nowhere to be seen. I was alone… Other than a Peacekeeper who came up to me from behind and… Then I woke up in a prison and I'm basically kept there until I was reaped. My reaping was rigged, you know?"

"I know," Nate said. "I told you, this goes so much deeper than even I imagined."

He ushered we leave and we went back out into the corridor, which was still eerily empty. As we made our way back to the stairwell I realised Nate and I probably had visions of a just world. District Five's rebels distrusted Thirteen – they didn't believe what we believed and in some ways were similar to the Capitol. Democracy, freedom and human rights were, to them, afterthoughts. Nate seemed to hold his District in a lot of pride, so he probably felt these values weren't fundamental but were irrelevances at best and evil at worst.

But Thirteen ensured citizens never went without. They cared about fairness, about looking after their people. I felt that the only thing that bound Nate and I together in this rebellion, other than convenience and desperation, was kindness… Perhaps that was all you needed. In a world where I had literally nothing left, and I felt Nate was in a similar situation, perhaps that was all I had to hold onto.

Before we reached the stairwell I was interrupted by the lights suddenly flickering to life. Telephones in each of the empty offices began to ring, but most alarmingly of all an alarm blazed.

I looked around panicked as Nate gestured I stay calm. On either side of the corridor Peacekeepers appeared in a split second, as if they magically knew where we were:

"Sorry," Nate told them calmly. "We, um, we got a little lost."

* * *

 **Jordyn Rossi, District 1, 18**

I was suddenly beginning to wonder if the Capitol had made it a mission to make the pre-Games as eventful and chaotic as the Games themselves. First the rebel attack on the remake centre, then the chariot ride which saw the systematic execution of rebels and now, on the second day of training, all of the lights had suddenly turned off minutes after lunch had ended.

Clay had made it very clear that the pre-Games could be the fun part – mostly. Eat well, live well, prepare for a lot of small talk (which would arguably be more difficult for me than the Games themselves) and enjoy that training was a pointless exercise that gave me a big break. Why train for two and a half days when I had trained for the past couple of years?

Some tributes – the Eight girl, I noted – immediately screamed as if a power trip were the end of the world. Pip and I rolled our eyes in unison, something we had gotten close to mastering.

"Isn't she from Eight?" Pip said, looking at the girl who was being comforted by the scar riddled Ten boy. "Shouldn't she be used to power trips?"

"She doesn't look like the kind of girl who is," I said to her, watching as a bespectacled woman flocked into the room holding a clipboard in one hand and a voice amplifier in the other, she spoke into it and further startled the other tributes: "Tributes! We apologise for this inconvenience but there seems to be an unexpected glitch in the system," following her were _hordes_ of Peacekeepers, who spread across the room. "We ask that you be patient and avoid stations that require the use of power. We will also stress that as two tributes are currently missing nobody is permitted to leave for _any_ reason."

I cursed as a Peacekeeper rudely barged past me whilst a troupe of them surrounded the various weaponry stations as if they were concerned a tribute would pop out with some of the weapons and would start a massacre.

"This is a shit show," I mumbled to myself.

"You're right, though," Pip continued practicing her swordsmanship as I leaned onto a counter with various instruction manuals regarding the theory of how to use a sword. Clay had little time for the theory stuff – he said the best way to use weapons were to remember there were no rules. I watched as the serpentine Two girl swung her around with a pleasant combination of grace and force. "They often say the Career tributes are rich and pompous. I would say half of those District kids have had an easier life than I have."

"Yeah, probably," I said inspecting them all in turn, but noting that even though I was definitely one of the poorer kids in District One the majority of the District kids were gaunter and paler than I. Pip, however, was an exception. She looked tougher and beefier than most poor kids, but not healthier or with so much vitality. She wasn't tough because she'd been trained to survive, I could tell she was tough because she _had_ to survive. "We're not really typical Careers, though, are we?"

Part of me wanted to protest. I was basically a Career in every respect – I had been trained like they had, for example. Another part of me wanted to agree: Clay, probably because of his beef with the academy so many years ago, always tried to drill it into me that I wasn't one of those Careers. I was better.

"I dunno," I shrugged. "I suppose you're not. You're not even trained, right?"

"No," Pip swung her sword so harshly I heard it slice the air. "But training is arbitrary."

"Before I gave you a bit of a swordsmanship one-o-one you couldn't hold a sword properly," I grinned. "Training helps. But being a natural tough cookie helps and I guess in that department you far outmatch all of us. Even me."

"You have some ego," Pip said as she moved to a dummy, almost slicing through its thick neck in a whole swing – not that the hypothetical person would have survived a severing of the jugular anyway.

"I needed it to survive."

Pip stepped back and lunged, using her sword to clumsily – albeit, oddly effectively – pierce the dummy's chest.

"Can I say something corny?" She asked.

"Sure."

"You remind me of me. You _look_ like me," I glanced at the Two girl sceptically. "I mean, not exactly. But dark features, olive skin… If you weren't on the shorter side I'd say you were kidnapped as a baby and brought to District One."

"Maybe I was," I smiled. "I… I never really got to know my parents. Although, judging by what my grandpa and my Aunt told me I don't think I really ever wanted to meet my mother." I didn't like this. I wasn't a fan of small talk, but I felt like small talk had some utility – you didn't get to expose yourself and make yourself vulnerable.

"That's another thing we have in common," Pip laughed. "We both have piece of shit mothers."

"Is that why you left home?" I asked.

Pip regarded me for a second, before placing her sword back on the rack.

"I learned from a very young age that I couldn't grow up in the kind of household I grew up in and that my only options were to… I dunno, to do some questionable shit. I even considered joining the academy in Two as a born and raised," she told me with a shrug. "Ironically decided I didn't want to go into a death match and... Well, I did other shady shit instead."

Ah. The infamous born and raised – those in Two who got their training for free and lived in the academy system. Usually orphans. A born and raised hadn't been in the Games since the two-hundredth and first Games, and thank Panem for that, because they were notoriously brutal.

"And yet here you are. What made you volunteer?"

"I will only be able to disclose those details once I win and I get a pardon," Pip smiled, putting her hands on her hips. "Lets just say the lifetime of wealth and the pardon associated with the Games appealed to a petty criminal like me."

"Well," my finger gently stroked a blade. I considered my words, but knew inside Pip wasn't averse to a bit of heat and wouldn't take my words personally – even if I believed them. "I doubt you're going to get that pardon so surely there's no harm in blabbing now, right?"

Pip opened her mouth to retort but was interrupted as the power jumped back into life and alarms suddenly began to blaze. Peacekeepers mumbled between themselves and readied their weapons slightly, leading me to immediately be anxious. After the chariot ride debacle I wondered if there was the possibility there was more brutality in store.

"Do not worry!" The woman shouted into her voice amplifying device, though a lot of tributes still shuffled around and talked amongst themselves anxiously. "We have simply got the power back on."

Barely a minute afterwards, a sour faced, middle aged woman who I recognised as the Deputy Head Gamemaker came in with a gaggle of Peacekeepers and the two tributes who I had assumed had been missing.

"Tributes!" She shouted, sounding like an angry and austere mother. Somehow, her natural voice was louder than the other woman's voice amplified. People continued to talk or train, so when she took the woman's voice amplifier the noise she made could have caused its own earthquake: "Tributes! You will listen or face severe consequences!"

In the corner of my eye I saw and heard multiple Peacekeepers ready their guns. I surmised the Capitol's threats were only empty the first _few_ times, and though they probably wanted all twenty-six of us to make it to the arena in one piece, they were definitely not going to shy away from strong arming if need be. The other tributes got the memo, too, because the room suddenly went deathly silent and everyone stopped training.

The Deputy Head Gamemaker now addressed the huge, empty training centre around her, glaring at the guilty, taller boys by her side: "The Hunger Games may be notoriously free of rules, but that does not mean you act like baboons and _children_ while you are in the Capitol. We've heard multiple reports of tributes disobeying their escorts, of tributes engaging in inappropriate physical contact," Pip and I smirked and exchanged knowing glances. "And of tributes wandering into areas where they are not permitted." I'm guessing the Five and Thirteen boys were guilty. I did find their alliance interesting, though – the Thirteens were kind of toxic in their very existence, likely bound to lose. I don't know why another kid would partner up with them. "We may want you to make it to the Games alive, but failure to continue complying will lead to serious in-game consequences. You've been warned."

She handed the voice amplifying device back to the woman and then made her way out of the room, the tributes so silent her heels could be heard clacking on the wooden floor beneath. However, as soon as she left, nervous laughter from Yveaux by a swimming station had led most of the tributes to burst into fits of giggles.

"What's so funny?" Pip said drily as even I laughed a little bit.

"I don't know, I guess the environment feels awfully school like," I said, trying to extinguish the smile on my face. The laughter still continued despite multiple trainers and Peacekeepers attempting to shush the louder tributes. "Plus, it's hard to take the Capitol seriously when they can't even keep two kids in the training centre. Isn't this place supposed to be the pinnacle of Panemian surveillance?"

Pip punched my arm with enough force to leave it numb, but I showed no pain. "Come on, why don't you spar with me?"

"Agrippa!" I said in a very bad Capitolian accent holding my arm. Even Pip smirked for the first time as I pretended to swoon. "Do you not know harming the tributes before we're to enter the arena is forbidden under section 2 of the pre-Games convention? You are in mighty trouble, young lady!"

"Cut it out, cut it out," Pip laughed, forcing me to stand up. "And teach me how to kill people once the Games _do_ start."

* * *

When the bell ended and signified the end of training, I felt kind of good. Careers stereotypically spent the training day assessing the tributes, pushing them about and – if they felt particularly productive – perhaps continuing to plan and work on their interview angle or their general Games strategy or angle, since in the training centre they could now network. I had gone beyond that, continuing to train, helping Pip in the process… and yes, perhaps bumping tributes down a little.

Enjoying the familiar throb in my arms and legs that came after a good workout, I made my way into the living quarters and wiped the sweat from my brow with a towel that had been laid out on my bed. When I emerged from my room, still sweaty and red faced, Rosario was there.

"Did you know that the tributes who went on a wander were found on the second floor? One wrong direction and they could've found themselves in this room," Rosario said matter of factly, munching on a red apple I think he had found in the kitchen. "Maybe even in our bedrooms."

"Cool," I said, straight faced. I didn't find Rosario's information too useful: they wouldn't have been able to get into my room because it was locked. And I had nothing to hide, anyway. Plus, Rosario wasn't on my Christmas card list considering his homophobic, self-absorbed attitude. I kept silent because, out of compliance more than anything, he was the Career leader and I didn't want to be the one responsible for tearing the alliance apart.

There was a brief quietness and I didn't like how his shrewd green eyes roved over me analytically as I made my way into the kitchen, hungrily rummaging through the many cupboards for a protein bar of sorts. Just as I had found one, Rosario spoke up:

"I don't often find myself respecting people, but I respected you yesterday," he said. "You showed guts; a real Career value – a _District One_ value. I don't see that in people often, even in our current Career alliance."

I took an aggressive bite out of the bar. "I was just standing up for what I felt was right."

"And I respect that, even if I disagree with your…" He paused. "With your lifestyle."

I scowled at his insinuation that my orientation were something I chose to do, like it were comparable to, say, my dietary choices or my hobbies.

"I actually never had the guts to come out before," I admitted, swallowing and sitting down on a kitchen stool. Rosario made his way into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water as I absent-mindedly stroked a blade on the knife rack. "You guys were the first people I ever told. I mean, I never faked interest in guys," I admitted. "Just, I pretended I didn't like girls… But all of my crushes were… Yeah. So thanks for being an asshole. It really helped with my personal growth and shit."

"I'm glad I was a help in some way," Rosario said, leaning on the counter and taking a swig of water. "So do you… Um… Have a girl you're fighting to get home to?"

I laughed. "Girls don't find me pretty. Not in District One." Rosario shrugged, finishing off the glass of water with one mighty gulp – one that would make a horse jealous. "What about you, do you have a girl at home?"

"I do, actually."

I wondered who'd want to date Rosario. He was good looking – even I noticed that, from a somewhat objective point of view – but that didn't make him any less of an ass. And while his patriotism was welcome and even encouraged in District One, his old fashioned views were not, particularly amongst the young.

"You must miss her," I said, deciding to not fight assholery with assholery.

"I do," Rosario said, putting his glass in the kitchen sink for an Avox to clean up later. He kept his voice monotone, composed, but I can tell he was purposely censoring himself. "I don't have much time for the whole I'm going home for x, y and z rubbish," he told me. "The Games is so much bigger than any one individual. It's about this nation. But if I were fighting for anyone, it would be her. She's the person that made my life worth living… Before I dedicated myself to this cause."

"Really?" I raised an eyebrow. "What about your family?"

Rosario's expression threatened to falter.

"That's something I don't wish to go into," he said, leaving the kitchen and striding to his bedroom. "It was nice talking to you, anyway, Jordyn."

I watched after him, wondering what had led him to suddenly terminate the conversation and also finding myself feeling just the slightest flickers of self-doubt. I wouldn't have expected it to – but Rosario suddenly felt that bit more human to me. And that made the thought of killing him that bit more difficult.

I still would. I had to for my own survival. No matter how human somebody felt to me, I was going to put myself first. But that didn't make me fear any less for the emotional consequences that'd follow.

* * *

 **I just feel I have to say here that my grandmother and my dog are really sick right now, although I think they'll be okay, but the next update may be in two weeks. I apologise in advance if that's the case.**

 _ **~Toxic**_


	11. Working Behind the Scenes

**Lillian McNicks, District 12 Escort**

Escorts weren't just responsible for transporting tributes to the Capitol and immersing them in the ways in Capitolian etiquette. Mentors also weren't there just to pass on their survival wisdom. Both had a duty, whilst tributes were busy training and during the Games, to help collect millions if not billions in sponsorship credits and to organise how those funds would be allocated in the arena.

I made the perfect escort in theory – I used to run a preparatory school where the wealthiest Capitolites were sent to learn etiquette and elocution alongside arithmetic and languages. But the mingling with sponsors part was always draining and demanding for me. Today was one of the easier days, too: all escorts and mentors had been sent to a penthouse apartment owned by Tobias Harte to mingle with the Capitol's most influential businessmen, artists, intellectuals, socialites and even some Cabinet members. Not only did they alone concentrate almost a majority of total sponsorship funds, but their endorsements and influence could make the difference between life and death.

"Fiona!" I said, kissing the cheeks of a woman with blonde and pink hair with complimentary fuchsia eyes. She was well known for being in Destiny Harte's old girlband, though she was never the star act. "It's wonderful to see you," I curtsied, watching the tide of influential guests swim around us, nibbling at snacks and sipping their drinks. "Who are you sponsoring today?"

"You know I don't usually sponsor District Twelve," Fiona told me as she took a swig from her martini. She gave a quick wave to a passing reality television star – the not as famous, non Hunger Games kind. "But I like your tributes this year. There's promise they could survive. Definitely promise that keeping them alive will keep me entertained!"

"And you were always a trendsetter," I complimented, ignoring the fact only Destiny had really caught the public's fascination. "You were in the second most successful Panemian girl band."

"We would have been first, if we didn't split up," she said bitterly.

Keeping the flatter on, I said: "Of course! But you won't sponsor someone who everyone else is sponsoring. Cassandra looks tough, no?"

"In an emaciated way," Fiona admitted. "And your boy looks deadly."

"Don't leak this to the press," I said to her with a wink. "But lets just say some of his weapon knowledge… it could put a Career to shame!"

Fiona seemed intrigued. "Fine. Twenty-thousand credits to District Twelve."

"That alone can't even get a slice of bread when prices aren't inflated," I told her. "Fifty-thousand?"

Fiona smirked. "For you, Lillian. Fifty thousand."

"And do you care to buzz it to your social network followers so they can chip in one, five, ten, a hundred, a thousand credits if they so wish?"

"Fine," Fiona flipped out her portable device and pressed a few buttons. "Done, now can you tell me where the bathrooms are? I can see my ex right over there," I almost turned. "No! Don't look. I don't want to look crazy. Just point them out."

"I think they're by Destiny's powdering room," I said, pointing in the general direction.

The woman scowled at the mention of her old bandmate and left. Feeling exhausted, I joined two fellow escorts who were conversing by the buffet table. Contessa Franken, Five's escort, and Portia Rhymes, Four's, ate food and whispered to each other.

"Nice of you guys to take a break!" I said, though I exchanged warm glances with Portia. We'd always been close friends. "Some of us have to fight tooth and nail for sponsors."

As I pressed a switch at a machine that poured a coffee slushie, Contessa said: "Yes, well, I suppose when you've already produced Victors and have them to do your dirty work," she nodded at Rayann who was being harassed by a haggle of socialites. "You have less to worry about."

"Career District means a handsome sum is pretty much guaranteed for me too," Portia shrugged. "If I have to talk to one more narcissistic celebrity or boring entrepreneur…" When she saw my somewhat deflated expression, she put a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry too much about it Lils. At least you're not in Thirteen this year."

I never vocalised it, but I always thought the Capitol were too heavy handed… the Thirteen stuff had reinforced my beliefs.

"Yes," I said as I sipped my drink. "This has been pretty brutal, hasn't it?"

"Like the Thirteens weren't brutal before we finally had the courage to seize them," Contessa sneered. "My friend's cousin's friend's husband was a prisoner of war for the Thirteens. They treated him shockingly. You beat fire with fire."

"Oh, I know," I said softly. "But the pre-Games are supposed to be the nice bit, without the violence and humiliation… When people sit back and expect costumes and are greeted…"

"They got costumes," Contessa said. "But lets be honest, the best bit of the Hunger Games is the blood. The earlier it starts, the better, I say!" She belched when she finished her sentence.

"Yes, I do imagine a bit of evening execution gets the ratings up," Portia said unsurely. I always wondered why we were told to ensure there was quality entertainment for ratings, considering viewing was compulsory anyway. They must have just meant the critical reception of the spectacle. "But it gives me the feeling that the Thirteens have no chance if they're in here just to get the iron fist-"

"You three do enjoy talking about me, don't you?" A deeper voice cut through our conversation. We both glanced at the person in question – Tauri. Tauri somehow looked both extremely glamorous and extremely intimidating, two traits I was taught could never go together. They sashayed closer so that they were in our little group, pinching an olive from Contessa's cocktail and biting into it.

"Tauri!" Portia forced a smile at our new colleague, who was a strange pick of escort: an old military commander. "We were just talking about the dynamic change of including Thirteen."

Not one for tact, Contessa interjected: "We were wondering if your tributes had a chance in hell of not getting their throats slit."

Tauri raised their eyebrows. "Well, ladies, I hope you know I am the only one out of us who actually has killed someone – so you can bet that I will instil iron discipline to get my tributes as far as possible. Thirteen is being punished, there is no doubt about it, but the President assured me that while they're getting no handouts they will be getting a fair shot. In fact, I think we have two potential Victors. I mean, Portia? Your tributes are pathetic excuses of Career if I've ever seen one," I opened my mouth to speak. "Lillian, if your tributes were as good at killing as angsting about their tragic lives maybe they'd have a slim chance. And, who are your tributes again Contessa? Irrelevant one and irrelevant two?"

All of us were briefly shellshocked by Tauri's lack of manners.

"Now, if you mind, I am talking to Nero Wenston – the inventor of the earpod, multi-billionaire, he's rather intrigued knowing that military training is compulsory in District Thirteen," Tauri said. They turned about, but turned back and cupped their jaw. "By the way Portia, did you lose weight? Now you're only like one hundred pounds overweight. That's a big – excuse the pun – leap. Keep it up."

With their most twisted smile, Tauri proceeded to return to the party to mingle with a clique of suited old men.

* * *

Frustrated by what I felt was a lack of progress and by Tauri's abrasive attitude, I stormed into the District Twelve living quarters and slammed the door behind me as I hung up my coat and bag.

"Sorry I'm late!" I said, already being attacked by an assortment of smells as dinner had probably been served twenty minutes ago. I strode towards the dining quarters. "Public transport in the Capitol can be an absolute joke sometimes and to be completely honest I should get a car or a hovercraft lice-"

Interesting sight. Only Cassandra sat at the table, her Seam like eyes darting up and observing me. Arran was nowhere to be found.

"Where is Arran?" I asked.

"He took the food he wanted and headed to his room," Cassandra said, carving into a steak.

"How very rude!" I said, feeling my nostrils flare as I turned. "I really should tell him to-"

"No, no, I don't mind," Cassandra said after swallowing some food. "Truth be told, I think it's kind of genius and am wondering how I didn't think of doing that within the past three days."

I smiled.

"Well, I hope you don't mind me giving you some company just for tonight," I sat down and started shovelling mounds of mashed potatoes onto my plate. "I am absolutely starving and today has been a bitch – pardon my Latin."

"Finding it difficult to convince sponsors to vote for the tragic orphan whose brother barely made it past the Bloodbath before his head was cut in two?" Cassandra said sardonically as she took a sip of water.

"No, it's just tiring…"

"Lillian?"

"Yes, dear?" I said as I poured myself some wine.

"There were things that I've been meaning to ask you. Things I couldn't say in front of Arran," I perked up. "Things about Luke."

My heart dropped. Oh Luke…

"Sure," I forced a smile as I poured gravy over my meal. "I escorted your brother to the Games, too. So maybe there's something I can help you with."

"Did he… Did he enjoy his last few days before the Games?"

I couldn't quite recall. Who didn't enjoy Capitolian food and luxury, though? "I think so dear, yes, obviously he was a little nervous for what was to come. But he seemed in high spirits."

"And did he mention me?"

"Yes," I lied. He didn't mention anybody, really. Neither did his District partner, Freya. They were both reserved in their own little way, even if Freya knew how to put on one hell of a show. Not too much different to their successors, then. "He talked about you a lot… about his little sister who…" I improvised. "Had beautiful dark hair… And… Well, yes."

Cassandra seemed to fall for it. She smiled sadly, tucking into her food once more. I ate slowly, not enjoying the silence even though my words had temporarily but the Seam girl at ease.

"He didn't know about our mother, did he?"

Something in me shattered as I remembered the dilemma I felt, probably even this time last year. Whether or not to tell Luke his mother had perished in the bombs that obliterated parts of the Seam. The war in District Thirteen was vicious and brutal – and now here they were, fighting in the Games. A year can change many things.

Did I tell Cassandra the truth? Her framing of the question made it seem she wanted Luke to have been oblivious. But maybe she'd resented it if I lied to Luke, the way I had lied to her only minutes before.

"No," I said honestly, looking her in the eyes.

Cassandra nodded understandingly. Then she smiled. Then, after failing to tuck into the scraps of food left on her plate, she burst into tears. I stood up and approached her, saying nothing and pulling her into a hug. She had spent so long surviving, and though she'd need to survive better than she ever had before in just two days time, she was safe here. She was safe to cry. And cry she would.

* * *

 **Geonova Fillington, District 10 Escort**

"Up!" I said, tearing the sheets off of Lillian almost immediately after turning the lights on with the clap of my hands. Lillian groaned, turning to me and blinking dazedly as I strode back to the doorway, saying: "Today is your last opportunity to get in that last minute training before getting a score that sponsors would be satisfied with. It's vital you get up nice and early and have some breakfast down you."

"How long until the Games?" Lillian asked, her first morning thought.

"They're the day after tomorrow," I informed her, feeling slightly bad when I saw the dread on her face. I myself was somewhat excited for them – but I was also dreading them. The downside to being an escort was that you never got to truly enjoy the greatest holiday of the year. "Now out of bed, I love my sleep too but this is for your own good. Do you want me to drag you out?"

Lillian slipped off the bed, rubbing her eyes. I made my way to Raleigh's room. He was already up, standing in the doorway with his scarred arms folded as he glanced at me.

"'M up," he said.

I inhaled the air, taking in the scent of delicious breakfast foods. "Well, isn't that wonderful?" I smiled. "Breakfast is ready!" I shouted out loud so Lillian could hear, making my way to the breakfast table which was surrounding by legions of Avoxes who put down silver platters of bowls filled with food. As I expected, the two hungry teenagers were soon sat down opposite each other, loading their plates with food.

"I thought I couldn't eat a scrambled egg better than my ma's," Raleigh said to me with a smile. "Thank Panem I probably won't be able to get home to tell her she's been beat."

I grimaced at the dark humour. "Well, one of you _will_ get home," I said. "As you know, today training will be shortened. Then you will be scored. Do you have any idea what you'll do to impress the Gamemakers?"

"Um, show off survival skills, show what I picked up with a knife," Raleigh shrugged. "Something like that."

"And you, Lillian?"

"Please just call me Lily," she said. "And yeah. Basically something like that."

I sighed.

"You should think about these things," I scolded. "Tonight we will immediately go over your interview angle. As well as instil some well-needed Capitolian etiquette into the both of you. I know when you get given these comfortable beds and all of this food," I gestured to the food, most of it I didn't dare touch due to the diet I was on. "You're tempted to see this as a farce, as a little treat from the Capitol to compensate for…" I pursed my lips slightly. "For, you know. But it's not. This is us getting you to connect with the public before the Games start. It's almost as crucial as what you do in the arena itself."

"Okay Geonova," Raleigh said. "Can you pass the salt?"

I rolled my eyes and looked for the saltshaker. I saw it was by Lillian.

"You're better off asking Lilli – Lily," I said.

"I asked you," Raleigh said uncomfortably.

"Because he is too awkward to be a man and ask me to pass the salt shaker," Lillian said, staring daggers into her District partner.

Raleigh acted like Lillian's words were merely gusts of wind. "So can you pass the salt, Geonova?"

"For Panem's sake," I sighed, reaching over and snatching the salt, passing it over to Raleigh who sprinkled a generous helping onto his breakfast. "This is absolutely ridiculous. I thought four year olds were too young for the Hunger Games, no?" I glanced at each of them in turn. "This also makes no sense to me. You used to get along. What happened?"

"Lily found it appropriate to lock lips with a Career."

"Why do you think that who I do and don't snog is _any_ of your business Raleigh?"

"Okay, okay," I rolled my eyes. "Just stop. It's none of my business why Lily did that to a Career – as long as she doesn't do it again because if tributes continue to misbehave like that under my watch I will get in serious trouble," I glanced at Lily. "Once the gong rings you can get as intimate as you want with any of the tributes. Although I think I'd prefer it if you killed them."

"It was just a stupid mistake-"

I raised a finger, cutting off her protestations. "That is besides the point. Just as long as you don't kill each other. While there are no rules against it, of course, even the Capitol is appalled by District partners, people raised in the same communities, killing each other before the final eight."

Lily snorted as she helped herself to another breakfast, sprinkling some cereal into a bowl. "Don't be ridiculous Geonova."

"Isn't that an ethical guideline that isn't followed in District Ten?" I asked, perplexed.

"That's not what I meant, we deplore traitors," Lily said. "I wouldn't kill Raleigh ever. Even if he can be an ass."

Raleigh swallowed his food, giving her a quizzical look.

"Even if it was me and you, just in the final two?" He asked.

Lily paused. "I'd like to think so," she said. "Or… I'd like to think not. I want to survive. I just don't think I could kill anyone, especially you." She began to pour milk into her cereal. "I have a brother to look after. And… It's my dream to one day live to have my own family. But everyday I know there are people with stakes just as high as me… If not higher."

"Well, I'm touched," Raleigh said. "If you kill me post final eight, if either of us are lucky enough to get there, I promise I won't take it personally."

"Okay," Lily smiled. The tension that filled the air suddenly seemed to burst.

"But if you kill me before then, seriously, screw you."

Lily laughed. "Right back 'atcha, cowboy."

"And I'm sorry. I do think kissing a Career… Unless it's part of a wider gameplan, which, no offence, I don't think there was, is stupid. And I think it spits in the face of everyone from our District who was killed by a Career – Zephyr, Monk, Blaise, Helen, Aurochs, Carlie… I remember the names." I sighed. "But I took it too personally. I just felt like you were abandoning me for someone else."

"You abandoned me for someone else!" Lily's voice raised a little, and she was affronted again.

"I'm sorry. But I saw you had gotten cosy with the Nine and Seven boys. So I guess we're in different alliances now. Some things aren't meant to be."

"I mean… Our alliances could maybe… Combine?"

"A supperalliance of, what, seven? Do you think that's plausible?"

"Maybe. I… I dunno."

"It's not. You have your allies, and I have mine. We can accept that and still respect each other. I couldn't wait around for us to make up. You understand that – you partnered up yourself. People tend to be safer in alliances; kids like us do anyway. I couldn't wait around for you. I took my own initiative. That's how you survive. District partners don't have to be allies – as long as we're not adversaries."

"I guess," Lily finished her breakfast and put it aside. "It just sucks that one argument led us to be this rash and to… I dunno. There's no point thinking of could've beens – Silas and Tamal are really nice guys.

"Tesni told me Silas was nice," Raleigh smiled. When Lillian raised an eyebrow, he clarified: "When I saw you'd buddied up with him I had to inquire. Tesni herself is quite shy. And then there's Alina, she's smart and nice. Bella is probably the nicest person I've ever met… Except maybe my brother – or except you, even," Raleigh smiled.

"I'm glad they all seem nice… And the Eight girl is really that nice?"

"Yeah," Raleigh took a bite out of his toast. "She is."

"I didn't get that vibe from her."

"Maybe first impressions can be wrong."

"Yeah. Maybe."

Raleigh stood up and stretched slightly, Avoxes immediately descending on him to collect used up dishes. I poured myself some orange juice, watching as he cleared his throat and awkward addressed us:

"Anyway, enough about being overly sentimental, I have some survival shit to do," he smiled and made his way into his bedroom, probably to shower and change into his training gear.

Lily looked into a near empty cereal bowl, where circles of oat floated around an ocean of milk.

"I'm so going to die," she fretted, virtually throwing her spoon into the bowl and leaving me sitting alone, the awkwardness that left the atmosphere suddenly rushing back again.

* * *

 **Mirane Saffell, District 8 Victor**

"Enjoy training, and remember to not let yourself get too nervous when it comes to scores – they don't determine everything, and if you let nerves get to you you won't do so well anyway," I said to Batiste as I sent him on his way to training. It felt like a twisted version of sending your kid off to school.

As Batiste rushed down the corridor, I felt my own stomach twist in on itself. That feeling was something I would probably never be able to experience. Or I wouldn't be able to experience it with my own son, anyway.

I tried not to let it get to me. I tried not to let his kidnapping make me weak again. But every day anxiety crept into my brain. I had no idea what the rebels had done to him. I had no idea if he was dead or alive. I had no idea if I would ever see him again, but to try and numb the pain, to strangely help me cope better I had already abandoned hope. Once again, in my life, I was alone.

Perhaps it was better that way, and I could now direct my energy not into worrying about his beautiful, innocent smile or his excited, big brown eyes, but into ensuring my tributes survived.

As Bella basically skipped through the corridor, I closed the door on her, which prompted her to glance up at me quizzically.

"Hey Mirane, is something up?"

"As a matter of fact," I drummed my nails on the edge of the door. "Yes. Yes there is. I told you I wanted to talk to you on the train ride. This is the first time in a while I've caught you alone."

"Want to talk about it?" She smiled widely.

"We're not going to be able to talk honest until you cut the bullshit and speak to me woman to woman," I said to her, my eyes narrowing. Something in Bella's demeanour changed – I felt her inner coldness seep out and turn the room into a freezer. "Your Uncle and my dad work together, I don't forget. I also remember the stories that'd be relayed around about how you manage your clique back at school. Plus, I saw what you did to Batiste. And on top of that your act is over the top. Tone it down a notch. Anyone with two brain cells can see it coming."

Bella swept her adorable, evil little ringlets behind her shoulder and then folded her arm, pouting at me.

"Thankfully not too many people have brain cells, huh, Mirane? That's how I keep my house in order at home. This collection of teenagers can't be too different."

"Except people at your school aren't trained to slit that pretty little throat of yours," I said, tracing my finger on her neck. Her blue eyes narrowed at me but she said nothing. "Neither is their survival at stake. People won't be afraid about trashing their reputation to call you out on your bullshit."

"What is your problem, exactly, Mirane?"

"Oh," I laughed. "I have no problem. By all means, keep it up, girl. I'm just telling you to polish up your act a little if you want it to work."

"Fine," the fake, saccharine smile came back and she forced the door open, prising her way into the corridor. "See you around, Mirane."

"Oh, but Bella?" I called after her, arms folded; almost returning to that maternal figure I felt when I saw Batiste off. Only my parting words to the Eight girl were going to adopt a much different tone.

"Yeah?" Bella stopped and turned to face me.

"You manipulate and slaughter anyone you have to if gets you out of there," I said to her earnestly. I was far from above killing to survive. Bella nodded, but I interrupted her: "But if you so much as harm a hair on Batiste's head again, before the final two, before it is literally a case of life and death, and you will come to regret it. I will make sure that not a single penny of sponsor money comes your way. If you are starving and there's no food, I will make sure you wither to death. If you are trapped in the middle of an arctic storm, I will make sure you resemble a human icicle. If a tribute is nearby and you are weaponless, I will make sure that you have no way to defend yourself and that you will die." I mimicked her fake smile. "We clear there, hon?"

Arabella's eyebrows rose. For the first time, I think I truly intimidated her.

"Sure," she said, turning and walking off.

* * *

"Tut tut Mirane," I turned to see the young man who looked near double his age, his hair already showing flecks of grey and his seemingly permanent stubble already there. His tired eyes bore into mine as he sat down with me next to the bar. Iopian was, like me, a little tipsy, with two fingers of whiskey in a glass. "Are we drinking already? Hours before lunchtime?"

I swirled the cocktail stick around in my cosmo before downing it. "The moment I turned legal to drink, or legal in District Eight," I knew the Capitol's culture was much more lax. "I couldn't drink for nine whole months. Give me some space to enjoy myself Iopian. Are _you_ of all people criticising me?"

Iopian grinned, showing off his oddly immaculate teeth. "You know those cruel rumours about alcoholism aren't true, don't you?"

"Oh, of course I know that," I pinched his glass and then downed it, the oaky taste of the spirit briefly seizing every taste bud I had. I smiled at him. "I also know I could drink you under the table."

"Don't challenge me, young lady," Iopian laughed. He stroked his chin and looked at me more seriously. "I came here to apologise."

"Apologise for what?"

"I recall you tried to talk to me last year," Iopian said. "I brushed you off. It was rude of me. I was dealing with my own bullshit."

"I know," I said to him, forcing a smile and taking another sip of my cosmo. It was no secret that Iopian, for aiding and abetting the criminal relatives of last year's Eleven boy/girl, had to watch as his father and his fiancée were both killed as punishment. "I guess we've both had to deal with our own bullshit."

Iopian squeezed my hand. "If you want to talk about it…"

"I don't," I smiled, my eyes looking into his. "But thanks. It is nice having you, and Rayann… Even Luster and Jynx. You get it."

Iopian smiled, his eyes almost drowning into mine the way I was slowly, very slowly, drowning in my own drink. "Look, I should get going-"

"Oh, to a sponsorship appearance?"

"No," Iopian cleared his throat, pulling his chair in and straightening his scruffy jacket. "I don't have one for like three hours-"

I interrupted him. "I don't have one for two," I let a strand of straightened hair snake around my fingers. Biting my lip slightly, I said: "You should show me what District Eleven's living quarters are like."

Iopian looked uneasy. "You don't mean…?"

"Are you not used to women being straightforward with you?"

"Look, Mirane, I'm flattered," Iopian cleared his throat slightly. "You're very beautiful. But you're younger than me and-"

"Four years is nothing," I smirked. "Don't scramble for excuses. Just give me a yes or no. But you know as well as I do life is short," I stood up and straightened his collar, looking him right in the eye. "So what is it?"

* * *

The moment I felt Iopian's body part from mine, I made sure to create as much distance as possible. I tightly wrapped the satin blankets around my body, staring up at the ceiling as Iopian scrambled around the room for his underwear.

"Damn," I exhaled, giggling slightly. "I needed that."

"Yeah," Iopian chuckled, throwing himself back on the bed. "Damn."

"You sound surprised," I gave Iopian the side eye. "You know, I was shameless enough to do _that_ -" I traced a finger down his tanned stomach. "- in the arena, with all of the cameras on me. Have you ever had a lady without inhibitions before?"

Iopian smirked a little bit. "Maybe. So, was I better than him?"

My face dropped. "Who?"

"You know who."

"Well, it was his first time," I suddenly found myself at a lost for words and embarrassed. "And it wasn't yours – that – that isn't really an appropria-"

"Did you really love him? Or was it an act for sponsors?"

I moved myself away from Iopian, slightly stung. "This isn't exactly great pillow talk. And to think you were so suave a moment ago."

Iopian reached out to touch my arm, but I flinched. "Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that – I was just cu-"

"Iopian!" A deep yet feminine voice outside the corridor chimed. Iopian's tribute must have heard him in his room, and before we could move the footsteps moved closer and closer towards the door. I almost laughed at the Eleven girl's distinctive face contorting into shock at what she had walked into: "Iopian, do you know where my ID card is? I fo-" She looked to him, then to me. "Oh, hello."

Iopian immediately resembled a tomato in redness. "Rye… Hi…"

"I didn't know I was interrupting something," she giggled. "Iopian! You tiger!" I laughed, prompting Iopian to glare at the both of us. Keeping the sheets tightly tangled around my body, I stood up and collected my clothes, planning to make my way into one of the bathrooms and change there.

"I guess I'll see you around Iopian," I said to him coldly before making eye contact with the Eleven girl and sniggering slightly. I made my way out of the room, amusement still etched upon my face despite the haunting memory of both Darius and Buster lingering in my mind.

* * *

 **Markoz Darlington, District 6 Escort**

Engaging with the big bosses was always fun, especially considering the conversation and food was guaranteed to be top notch. But I always enjoyed days where mentors and escorts would go to public places – town squares, shopping malls, and town centres, where we could mingle with the many thousands of Hunger Games fans who wanted to contribute.

Sure, they couldn't donate thousands or millions of credits all at once, but they could provide one, or five, or ten, or a hundred if they were generous. All of that wealth pooled together, in total, outweighed even the combined wealth of the Capitolian elite. It was important to rendezvous with the wealthy in order to gain sponsorship money – but it was even more important that tributes connected with the everyman; or the Capitolian everyman, anyway.

So here I was, sitting at a panel at a large convention centre with three other escorts: Fi-Fi, District Eight's escort, Geonova Fillington, District Ten's escort and District Twelve's escort, Lillian McNicks.

Here, regular Capitolians paid a handsome sum in credits to go to the convention. As well as buy Hunger Games merch, get access to exclusive announcements and be able to enjoy interviews from Gamemakers or Caecilius Norton, it was the job of escorts and Victors alike to visit (as well as traipse to other Capitolian hotspots) in order to win the hearts and mind of the Capitol and gain credits. This panel, which would later be televised, would be a handsome opportunity to do so.

After answering a torrent of mundane questions, I got the opportunity to answer the final question of the day:

"Markoz, why do you think your tributes deserve to survive more than any of the others?"

I glanced at my notes and my painted blue lips formed into a smile.

"That's the question, isn't it?" I told the crowd, conscious of the many cameras that were pointed at me. "It's ultimately what we're trying to sell you – that because our tribute deserves to survive, they are the ones that deserve your hard earned money. What drives sponsorship is determined by so many factors. We may like a tribute, or feel bad for them, so will give them the resources to have a shot. We may want to win money on a bet we made, so we sponsor that tribute – more often than not, a stronger one who we give money to because we are more likely to be rewarded. The Hunger Games…" It would be wrong, near criminal, to question the ethics of them. I would be fired immediately. "Some people think reality TV is stripped of all humanity, I would disagree."

Fi-Fi smiled widely. "Geonova, we were told to give short answers, not to bore the audience to death." They laughed and I blushed under my make-up.

"Well, Fi-Fi, humanity is something you may not be too acquainted with," more laughter from the audience. "But I think it's what distinguishes the Hunger Games from shows like _Network_ or _The Rich Kids of Diamond Heights_ ," I smiled. "Other than the Hunger Games being a national event and holiday, of course, is that it's so human. We see these people at the most vulnerable – most likely final – moments of their lives. We connect with them on a human level. If you help them survive, whether it's till the end or to the final eight, I promise there are no two tributes that will deliver more humanity than mine. I know from conversations with Kai that he is fighting for people back at home that need him. We have known Roxanne from birth, we know her father's story and we know _her_ story. Just one credit can make all the difference between whether you get to see that sequel or not."

I ended my speech with a humble silence, and was pleasantly surprised to see the standing ovation from the crowd. I smiled, knowing that while there was much more mingling to do – while my tributes were training and getting scored I had an assortment of other scheduled appearances.

After detailed applause, the audience began flocking out of the room under direction of many convention volunteers. I watched after them, taking a triumphant sip of water.

"You seriously think your tributes have no chance so you pull the boo-hoo card," Fi-Fi rolled her eyes at me. "Try harder."

She closed a notepad she had in front of her and stormed backstage, into the green room. Lillian smiled awkwardly at me.

"Don't take it personally. You know how competitive she gets and how badly she wants to be promoted back into District Two. It's been tough for her."

"I heard because of the pay cut she had to sell a few of her hovercrafts and holiday homes," I remarked bitterly, taking a few sips of water. "I'm crying for her. How tragic."

Lillian seemed eager to change conversation. "So where else are you booked?"

"I'm going to Beaconsfield Mall, then to Tillerson arena, and obviously I need to get back in time for the scoring stuff," I said, collecting my notes and standing up. Lillian followed me to the backstage.

"I'm guessing with so many autographs signed your arm falls off and with so many photographs and selfies taken you go blind," Lillian laughed mildly. "But that comes with the job. And if it helps the people I talk to and dine with every night survive, it's a job I am willing to do."

"Yes," I said. "Did you mean what you said at the panel, about your tributes being the most promising Twelve had since they last produced a Victor at the… when was it, one-hundred and eighty eighth Games or something?"

"I forgot when we last won," Lillian sighed. "It was before I was escort! But yes. Not that the last few were…" She fumbled for words. "Bad. Some were promising in themselves. But Arran… He reminds me of a Career – if not worse. And there's something about Cassandra, her brother seemed promising," as we entered the green room she grabbed a chocolate biscuit from a tray and took a bite. "And he showed for it. He was smart and strong – just very, very unlucky. But Cassie… She has a spark in her. Do you really think your bunch have a chance?"

"I mean, I do hope Maxwell survives, I want in on that sequel!"

Lillian laughed. "You were hooked too? I could _not_ put it down!"

My earpod started bleeping and I raised a finger to Lillian. "Just let me take this!" I moved over to an emptier spot in the increasingly sparse room. "Hello, is that you Enarife?"

I imagined the woman in charge of finances and sponsoring in the Hunger Games doing what she always did: her square forehead scrunched in concentration and her large jaw repeatedly brutalising a wad of gum as she held a phone loosely in one hand and typed into a calculator or keyboard with the other.

"Hey Markoz! Lovely to be talking to you again. Did you know I got engaged? Can you believe it?" I cringed at the sound of gum repeatedly being chewed. "But we have more important matters, I want to provide you with a brief sponsorship update. Of course, this is all controversial so if you share this with your tributes you get in _major_ hot water."

"Yes, I understand," I smiled.

"You are… fourth!"

"Fourth?" I asked, my heart freezing. We'd never done that well before.

"Fourth! Behind the Careers, nothing unusual there," Enarife said. "They always hog up many of the funds. But Six are doing well this year, look like people _really_ want to see that sequel from Maxwell. You're also only a quarter of a million credits behind District Four," another beat filled by the sound of gum chewing. "Think about it, Markoz – you're one rich donor or one terrified speech – like the one you gave just then – away from reaching Career territory funds. Keep it up and if your tributes are lucky enough to make the final eight, you'll still have enough cash to shovel towards them."

"Thanks, Enarife."

"No problem hon. Keep it up, I'm considering sponsoring Maxwell myself!"

I smiled and hung up, putting my hands to my heart and exhaling. If I kept up the hard word and strenuous effort, maybe, if Maxwell kept her wits about her, with sponsors alone she or even Kai could carry their way to victory. The chances were still slim – too slim for my liking, but it was amazing that all this hard work could amount to something.

The potential future promotion wouldn't hurt, either.

* * *

 **The next update will also be in 2 weeks. I'm ok! Just busy.**

 **Plz review? :)**

 _ **~Toxic**_


	12. Always the Quiet Ones

**Syncis Allomoi, District 3, 16**

My parents had always tried to smother me and protect me from the Hunger Games, so I didn't know exactly what I was in for. I still knew about them a little bit… They were inescapable considering for a month or longer every year the country would go crazy over them. And I had to go the Reaping. Only one thing to me was clear: in District Three, a boy and a girl would be taken every year. They never came back.

Now the Hunger Games was inescapable in literally every way, because I was being thrown into them. And while I had a gift, a gift no other tribute had, I was a complete fish out of water. I didn't know what to expect.

And my experience so far was not good. I may have been put in nicer rooms with more food over the course of a couple of days than I'd probably experienced in my whole life, but that didn't make up for the distressing experience so far. Just like my family and the evil doctor, my gift made people – even nice people like the girl from my District – look at me as if I were strange. People who claimed to want to style me violated me, then a bunch of people with guns tried to kill me, and then I had to watch even more people die.

Now I was in a room where intimidating kids with muscle messed around with weapons, and they were _good_ at them. From what I knew, I would be thrown into some kind of room or something with them and I would have to fight them. Despite my gift, I knew I would die.

But I couldn't. Mara and Fuse made it clear to me every day that I was destined to do something good – to save the world. I wondered briefly if it was my destiny to single-handedly end the Hunger Games.

In the extremely large, extremely glossy gymnasium where we had been directed into for the past couple of days, I did what I usually did: follow Frankie around as she prepared for what was ahead. Usually, she would spend the whole day reading manuals before practicing a vast array of impressive feats – building shelters, making fires and creating chemical weapons, for one – but today she went over to the big scary knives.

I didn't want to be anywhere near those weapons, especially because I knew Fuse and Mara would pressure me into hurting myself, into shedding some of my precious blood for sacrifice, but I followed anyway. Frankie was the only person in the room I knew and trusted, plus she didn't seem to mind me being her shadow.

I fidgeted nervously for an hour, and when my legs began to throb from standing around and doing nothing I sat as a strange looking woman instructed Frankie. When she began to use the blade to slash and stab at the dummy, I felt my heart palpitate and my whole body become clammy.

" _That's what she plans to do to you,_ " Mara sniggered.

"No. No," I rocked back and forth and tried to keep my composure. I couldn't bear the weird looks the other kids gave me.

And already I was getting them. Two of the kids from the other District passed me, a boy and a girl: a guy on the shorter side with dark features, and a girl on the taller side with light features. I could tell from the way they walked that they had a purpose – they knew what they were doing, and they knew how to do it.

As they passed me I flinched under the boy's glare, whereas the girl flashed a smile that lay somewhere between sympathy and uncertainty. She was doing it just to be polite.

I wondered what they were up to as they approached Frankie, a girl so much shorter and so much different to them both. I bit my lip, trying to control my trembling.

"You're Frankie, right?" The girl smiled cheerfully. The boy besides her folded his arms and kept silent as Frankie turned around, looked up at the towering tributes and scratched her chin.

She scanned them again with that scrutinising look I kind of hated. "You're Perseverance Bright and Arran Taron."

"That's me!" The girl smiled. "Feel free to call me Percy. We came here with a proposition."

The girl looked confused. "Proposition. What is it?"

"We can't really go into it but Lillee will be here in a moment and she'll explain everything. I mean… I'm not really sure about this deal as if stands, you know?" The Seven girl admitted.

"Does your pal talk, or is he so dumb he can't string a sentence together?"

Arran's nostrils flared, and he spoke in a low tone: "If you were a few years older I'd tell you to suck my balls."

Percy looked between the two awkwardly, though Frankie didn't look insulted.

"Arran, practice with those weapons so you don't rouse any suspicion! That was the plan!"

Arran grabbed a few of the blades Frankie was using and almost nonchalantly launched them towards the dummies. His aim was good. _Scary_ good. I watched as each one of them sunk into the dummy's head, heart or anywhere else that would guarantee instant death.

" _Unless you use your gift and strike them tonight when they're sleeping, that is your fate. Look at that dummy. Do you want that to be you?_ "

These words didn't come from Mara or Fuse. Though they were the voices I became acquainted with, there were so many voiceless ones in my head. The unnamed ones were like Mara and Fuse – other siblings of mine who had died and ventured to the unknown – but they were nameless, faceless and mysterious. They scared me all the time.

I couldn't run away from them, but I flinched anyway. Trying to pace, trying to shake them out of my head somehow and someway, I turned around to walk but crashed into one of the scary people who had been good with weapons. She had flowing red hair and kind hazel eyes.

"Sorry," she said to me, before striding past to join Frankie and the collection of tributes close to her.

I turned around, ignoring the buzzing of voices in my head to eavesdrop on their conversation. I didn't know any of them well – even Frankie – but I got the vibe they were an interesting collection of individuals.

"I don't have much time," the girl said to Frankie. "Don't react. Don't look shocked. And please ask as few questions as possible. I'm collecting people together so we can work together to bring down the Careers, this is what Percy and Arran are doing here. I think you can benefit us."

"I don't get how," Arran growled. "No offence, kid, but I think if it was you against me and you had a sword and I a toothpick, you'd be dead in five seconds."

"She's smart," Lillee said. "I know that from talking to her. When the rebels attacked, she apparently helped Titan and Rosario defeat them. We need that calm head to help defeat Titan and Rosario."

"Well, can she do anything?" Percy asked Lillee, as if Frankie wasn't right in front of them.

"Does my surname not ring bells for you? Thales-Wren?"

"I think I've heard it around," Percy admitted.

"They make weapons for the Capitol. Munitions," Frankie glanced at Lillee. "I'm not sure if _I_ want to join this alliance, because going straight for the Careers wasn't in my initial gameplan – I'd want to avoid them, if anything, but if you can protect me then I can guarantee I can use my knowledge to make the Careers go kaboom or something. I might not be the best fighter, but I know what I am good at. I'm goddamn smart."

Lillee seemed determined. "She's in."

"We're an alliance now," Arran snarled. "If you want me to help you slit some Career throats, you need my approval with who we let into the alliance. We have three strong people as it is. Why would we let more in?"

"Percy, what do you think? You have to be with me on this," Frankie watched the three debate whether she could be included in the alliance nonchalantly.

Percy looked unsure. "Maybe having someone smart in the alliance who can help us with the techy stuff can be useful. And there _is_ only three of us versus five of them… But I don't know. I'm not sure." Lillee looked more disappointed than Frankie did. "I'm just anxious you are letting your kindness make easy decisions. We can't just let anyone in," she paused and seemed to think of a compromise. "Don't the Careers often have a minimum requirement score wise when it comes to letting people join their alliance?"

"Yes," Lillee said. "It changes depending on who sets the bar, but it's an eight this year."

Arran leapt on the opportunity: "Then to be in this alliance, you need an eight."

"There is no way I'm getting an eight," Frankie said honestly.

"Good," Arran smirked down at her.

"A six," Lillee bargained.

"I'm not sure if I can get a six, it's hard for the Gamemakers to quantify intelligence into a survival score the way they can swords or other combat skills."

"If you can't get a six, no offence, but why are you even bothering?" Arran said bluntly to Frankie.

She glanced up at him and spoke boldly. "Because I have to try. I want to live. And god damn me if I'm not going to try with every inch of my life and have a stupid score or an arrogant fool from Twelve stop me. You can keep me locked out of this alliance but you must remember that I know that you're bringing the Careers down. Titan and Rosario are quite fond of me. It would be a shame if they knew what you were up to."

"Frankie, please…" Lillee started.

Arran had already snatched the fabric of Frankie's shirt, elevating her a couple of inches off the ground with ease. She kept resolute, glaring up at him as he snarled into her face.

"You do that and I will find you and kill you."

"Is that before or after the Careers chop your head off?"

"Guys," Percy interrupted. "We're going to attract a lot of unwanted attention. Let her go, Arran."

Percy's reasoning got through to Arran more than Lillee's disapproval ever did. He released her shirt and she fell back to the floor, balanced and calm as if nothing had happened.

"We can't let a girl who just threatened us into the alliance," Arran reasoned, looking Lillee right in the eyes.

"She did threaten us," Percy looked at Frankie with a little more respect. "But she has guts. And she seems serious about this survival thing. Plus, if she's in with us it'd shut her up. It looks like I'm going to be the mediator here – she gets a score of six and she's in with us. But we really can't afford to let many, if any, more people into the alliance. There are other tributes outside the Careers. The more of us there are the harder fighting them becomes."

Arran looked disapproving. "Fine."

"Fine," Lillee submitted, nodding at Frankie. "I'm sorry if you get under a six and can't make it in."

"It's okay," Frankie admitted. "But I guess I'll be hanging out with you guys now?"

"Arran and Percy, yes," Lillee said. "I'm with the Careers. I don't want them knowing about this. I want to strike and surprise them."

"Good plan," Frankie nodded.

"Which is why you have to excuse me when I do this," Lillee said before picking up Frankie and launching her over a weapons rack. Frankie gave out a startled cry as she was thrown right to the floor, and Lillee raised her voice: "You try to take a weapon from my hand again and I will gut you!" She barged past Arran so harshly he stumbled. "You'll be the first person I go for in the Bloodbath, Three!"

As she walked away I felt myself grow anxious as all eyes were on me. They were watching the commotion that had ensued, but I was in their line of sight. I shrunk as the voices inside grew louder and louder, compelling me to disappear completely.

I watched as a woman with a clipboard gave Lillee some really stern words, other 'Careers', as they were referred to, flocking around to support a girl who, from what I'd heard, later planned to stab them in the back in a big way.

I turned back towards Frankie as there was further commotion that filled up the background noise. She was being helped up by Arran, who addressed her cordially once she was on her feet:

"Your shadow can't be in this alliance," I gasped when he gestured to me. "I hope you know that. And if he heard anything, he will be killed."

"He's harmless," Frankie said as the overload of what had happened led to me feeling suffocated and overwhelmed. I glanced at the many racks of knives. What if my abilities were more than being this physical shell? What if my true skill was in escaping it, in being some kind of spirit or presence like my siblings? What if the Hunger Games had happened because I was meant to die? "He's odd, but harmless. He won't be telling anybody."

Arran looked skeptical. "It's always the quiet ones."

* * *

 **Alina Parrish, District 5, 15**

If I could feel sorry for Gamemakers – the people that had tore me apart from my family, the people who had likely condemned me to die, the people who, in killing me, had guaranteed that my disabled father and less qualified mother would starve at worst and struggle at best – I really would. The Games had definitely had its fair share of embarrassments before things had even started: first with the rebel attack, then with the Five and Thirteen boys getting lost on that wander, then with the tributes making out and now with the Four girl being so aggressive with the Three girl she almost killed her.

To be fair, if gossip mongering magazines and Hunger Games talk shows had informed me of anything, it was that Careers roughing up some tributes in the pre-Games was a common occurrence. But the Four girl got a real talking to by one of the Junior Gamemakers. I hung around the puzzle solving station, absent mindedly working on one as I listened in to the commotion that had everyone talking:

"If that happens again you will be punished by being forced to stay on your platform for a further ten seconds post Games," the Gamemaker snapped. "And that will be the nicest punishment. If Ruth bids it, we could be harsher."

"I lost my temper," the Four girl said, flicking her wavy hair back. "It won't happen again."

The Capitol had a right to be antsy – last year a coalition of District Thirteen and the rebels had threatened to bring it down. While it was, arguably, stronger than ever, with rebels completely eradicated and Thirteen seized, the paranoia remained. And it showed – in the barbaric public execution after the chariot event and the Gamemakers getting twitchy at the most minor misdemeanours.

"That was a hoot," the taller Ten boy said next to me. I glanced up at Raleigh.

I was glad that finding allies wasn't as difficult as I had expected – immediately, upon noting my mechanical skills at one of the stations, the Eight girl felt I was worth allying up with. I wasn't sure if she was particularly skilled in anything herself, but buddying up with her was worth it based on her networking ability alone. Now we had teamed up with the Nine girl, who was quiet and harmless, and the District Ten boy, who seemed much less harmless. He had a warm disposition, but he told us how he worked to train and tame savage mutts for Peacekeepers, plus he seemed quite strong. I was sure he could help.

Not that I viewed my alliance from a utility point of view. I just wanted nice allies, and Tesni, Raleigh and Bella all seemed to fulfil that purpose. Bella and Tesni were over at a climbing station, listening to a trainer who helped them get into climbing gear. I was solving a puzzle with Raleigh, who wasn't quite as good at them as I.

"Yeah," I said, biting my lip slightly. "Maybe if we're lucky the Career alliance will implode."

"Yeah, maybe."

"But…" I paused as I turned around a puzzle piece and inspected it. "But we can't just count on them imploding. We need to implode them ourselves."

Raleigh's hazel eyes bore into mine. "Do you think that's a realistic prospect?"

"Maybe there's something in the arena I could craft or – I don't know. And you're strong, right?"

"I've wrestled with big dogs once or twice, that doesn't translate to me fighting," Raleigh said. "And I don't see Bella or Tesni being that deadly, as much as I like them. _And_ I saw the Careers up close because Lily got snug with one. Muscles way bigger than mine. Maybe the strategy is just to avoid the Careers for as long as possible. But we need to learn to fight."

"We do," I nodded. "But what if we recruit someone that can fight?"

"Who left is there who isn't already in an alliance?" Raleigh look confused and fascinatedly as I absent-mindedly solved the puzzle out. We strolled over to the next level of puzzles. "And I had this discussion with Lily, superalliances are bubbles that burst and end badly."

I halted our little amble and smirked at Raleigh. "You talk about your District partner a lot," I remarked.

"I may not be in an alliance with her, but I guess she's one of the few pieces of home I have in this room."

I liked Raleigh. He was potentially my favourite in our alliances – Tesni was too reserved to connect with and while I didn't doubt Bella's kindness, there was something quite forced about her. And unlike the other girls, something about him made me feel safe. He seemed strong and he had a reasonable head perched on his shoulders.

Shrugging, I said. "I do have an idea for an ally."

"Who?"

The Careers were off limits, obviously. And the other competent tributes were all in alliances themselves. But my eyes glanced at one tribute I had noticed the past few days – she could throw a few punches at the boxing station, she seemed to know how to use a sword and she was sparring impressively with an axe and a trainer. Raleigh followed my gaze.

"There is an option," I said hesitantly. "We just have ruled her off."

"For a reason," Raleigh said gravely. "You saw what happened after the chariot rides, right?"

"Of course I did," I said, offended. "How could I forget?"

"Do you want that to happen to you?"

I adamantly turned to the puzzle, furiously solving it. It was strange, but I always worked better when I was stressed. It was almost like its own motivation. And thankfully in my life I had been stressed a lot.

"She is strong, I've seen her," I said. "And the Capitol wants to punish Thirteen, not us. But this is a game and – and as twisted as it is – the games always give you a shot to win if you just work hard enough, even if you might be from District Thirteen-"

Raleigh shook his head. "I know you've never come into close contact with the Capitol before if you think they're fair."

I finished the puzzle, almost at lightning speed, which I could see impressed Raleigh even though it was masked under a masquerade of dismay at my suggestion.

"I really wish I didn't know the Capitol could be unfair," I said, shaking slightly. "But I do. I don't like a pity party but I worked night and day to support my family. Because my dad is a cripple and my mum has to look after him so I can't do it myself," I saw Raleigh's expression falter and exhaled, looking up at him. "And I really, really need to get home for them. If I thought this plan were stupid I wouldn't propose it."

Raleigh glanced over at Bella and Tesni who had seemed to finish their climbing exercise. While walking along to another training station, they pushed each other around and giggled a little bit.

"I'm skeptical of your proposal still," Raleigh said honestly. "But we're an alliance so maybe you can do this with majority approval. If Bella and Tesni say yes, who am I to disagree with the majority?"

I smiled and nodded.

He mumbled something to himself bashfully as I rushed over to Bella and Tesni, intercepting them before they made their way to a water extraction station. Not used to seeing me being enthusiastic, Bella raised her eyebrows and then took a swig of water.

"Hey Alina, what's got you excited?" She said after she finished drinking.

"I have a proposal," I said, out of breath. I looked around to find Raleigh approaching us, brushing past the District Six boy who looked our way with some interest. "If you're up for listening."

"Anything to help us survive," Bella smiled.

"We need fighters," I said firmly. "The Thirteen girl is in no alliance." Raleigh joined me by my side. "But trust me, she's crazy good. I mean, I think she could maybe even hold off Careers. If we want our alliance to have a chance we really need fighters."

"I mean, I've learned a little," Tesni said shyly next to Bella.

"But it's not enough-" I said honestly. Feeling bad when I saw Tesni's expression, I modified my tone: "I have learned weapons and fighting the past few days too with everything I have. And while I've gotten better, I can't say with confidence if I could beat kids who have trained for years – maybe even a whole decade. But maybe this girl can. She could be a powerhouse that gets us into the final eight."

Bella took a swig of her water. She glanced at Tesni.

"What d'you think, Tes?"

"W-W-Well," Tesni looked at her feet as she stumbled, her voice as usual barely audible.

"Come on," she smiled sweetly. "Spit it out."

"If this were a year on I'd say yes, because Alina is right – the Thirteen girl looks tough. B-But…" Tesni cleared her throat. "This is the year after the invasion. The Thirteens aren't tributes. Not really. They're kids in death row. T-They're sacrificial lambs for daring to be a thorn in the the Capitol's side for the past two centuries. If we are seen as in cahoots…"

Bella pursed her lips and glanced at Raleigh. "And you, Raleigh? What do you think?"

Raleigh looked shocked at having being asked and I glanced at Bella somewhat suspiciously. Admittedly, this was not an alliance of utility. It was an alliance of sanity – we, or at least I, just saw these allies as someone to keep me sane, and there's strength in numbers even if the numbers were weak. But Bella seemed like she was an adept, strategic and capable leader in ways, I saw her assess her options as she took in the opinions of everyone in the group. And those hidden leadership qualities almost made me resent and suspect her. Tesni, too, despite being wrong on the issue of the Thirteen girl, was a lot more intelligent than she made out.

I knew Raleigh agreed with Tesni, but gave him a pleading look from the side. He glanced at me, then at Bella, then swallowed.

"Tesni is right," he said gruffly. I looked disappointingly at my feet but then perked up. "But we can ditch Thirteen if things look like they're going wrong because of her. Plus, it's a target on the Thirteen girl's back – not on ours. I think we go for it."

Bella took another swig of her water and grinned a little.

"I – we – do need someone who can kill for us," she said contemplatively, twirling a ringlet neatly around her pinky finger. "Consider it done. You two see if she's up for an alliance, but she has to be willing to kill for us. I would love to sing kumbaya with the other tributes, or play the Rayann Grace Carter pseudo rebellion bullshit card, but we need to live."

She strode to the station she had originally meant to go to. Tesni lingered behind, looking tentatively and nervously at Raleigh and I before smiling and following Bella like a lost puppy.

I scanned the room for the Thirteen girl. At first she saw nowhere to be seen, but then I had seen her at gymnast station. She listened to the instructors' advice and then failed to do a backflip. What she had in strength and willpower she certainly did not have in grace of poise – but she was probably still much more grateful than I was, and naturally so much more strong. I was only good at being cynical and tinkering with things.

"Do you suspect something is up with Tesni?" I asked Raleigh as I made my way to the gymnastics station. "Nobody can be like that unless they were raised in a cave."

"Perhaps she was," Raleigh shrugged. "Your District partner was, right?"

"Huh, Xavier?"

"Something off about him."

"No!" I said defensively. "He's… He's misunderstood. Plus at least he didn't make out with the enemy."

Raleigh's lips puckered, as if my remark about his District Partner left a bitter taste in his mouth. He chose to ignore it, instead reasoning: "Perhaps Tesni is too. But look at her. She can't hurt a fly."

"It's more than that," I stressed. "It's more than how many friends you have. I-I don't have many friends, at least I haven't the past few years. I've been too busy for that. Do you distrust me?"

"No," Raleigh put his hands on my shoulders and looked me seriously in the eyes. "Because you're my ally. You're right, after seeing Lily make out with a Career I knew I could like her but not trust her. But I can trust you guys – if I don't this whole thing falls apart. I can't have that, can you?"

I didn't know what I could or couldn't have anymore. An ally with the intent to betray was potentially more dangerous than a Career, even if they were weak. Because they were close to home and they could take you by surprise. You knew their intentions.

But still… If I got too paranoid too quickly, that could kill me.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I trust you guys."

Raleigh smiled and patted my shoulder. "Atta girl. Now lets make another alliance and kick some butt."

* * *

 **Tamal Arbor, District 7, 15**

It was nice to be in a comfortable alliance, and I _liked_ my allies. Often people put down allies as an easy way to lose because they can betray you. But I was sure neither Silas nor Lily would do that. I didn't often feel comfortable around people – I had always been cripplingly shy and awkward – but there was something about them that seemed genuine. I felt like not even the arena could break that.

I glanced briefly at them while they worked on crafting a blade from scratch at a weapon crafting station. Lily laughed at something Silas had said. I smiled to myself, momentarily thankful that despite the dark situation I was in I could find some light. It wasn't enough. It wasn't going to get me home to Graham or the Carrs – my parents – but it was something, and I had always been optimistic. Optimism wasn't something you only had when things were good, otherwise it would fail to be optimism. I had to keep some faith when things were bad, too.

I myself had been working on my knife wielding skills. After today's shortened training session we were going to be scored, and I didn't want a low score. A low score was the worst score to have – you didn't attract sponsors and, similar to if you got a high score, you had a target on your back but from a very different group of people: from those looking for easy pickings.

I wasn't going to be easy pickings. I had to defy all the odds and try to get a five – or at least a four.

I turned around to grab a knife and nervously shot a glance at my allies again, wondering if I could ask them to help. Instead I saw something that made me jump and drop my knife to the ground.

It was almost as if they had appeared in a flash of lightning, one second they weren't there – weren't even in my peripheral vision – and then they were. The least familiar faces somehow caught my eye first: the pale Twelve boy, not much bulkier and not much taller than I was, and the dark skinned Three girl who even little old me towered over - I had seen her get roughed up by the Four girl earlier.

Yet something about them intimidated me and set off alarm bells.

Then there was the more familiar and warm face, and yet despite knowing I _liked_ Percy I definitely _feared_ her. Her warm, smiling face, twinkling eyes and radiant blonde hair contrasted her sculpted and muscled body. She looked almost like she herself could've been a Career in another life, but her chirpy and zesty ways broke the illusion pretty quick:

"Hey Tamal, what are you doing?" She said, scooping my knife from the ground and inspecting it.

"Training," I said a little coldly, looking suspiciously at Percy's newfound allies. They were an eclectic pick considering Percy said she was looking for warriors. I couldn't imagine either of the two she had picked in a suit of armour, charging into battle.

"Nice! Want to say hi to Arran and Frankie?"

"Hi," I said awkwardly, glancing at the other two. "I'm guessing they're your um… all-"

"Friends," Percy said. "And allies, yes. But friends are more important."

"Why are you talking to me?" I asked skeptically, worrying I was looking rude. But I had figured out the past few days it took a lot to dent Percy – physically and mentally. I considered myself an optimist, but Percy was just something else. "I'm not your ally, you weren't interested in being my ally," I said, hoping I sounded more matter of fact than bitter.

"But you're my friend," Percy smiled and patted me on the shoulder. "Friends and allies aren't the same thing – they can be, but it's dangerous to think they're conflated, right?"

"My allies are my friends," I declared.

Percy glanced at Silas and Lily. I didn't like the way she seemed to be analysing them like they were things and not people, before she glanced back at me.

"I'm glad, mine are my friends too," Percy said. They didn't look very friendly, but didn't protest at her words. Their silence was eerie. She then grabbed my hand and manipulated it around the handle of the knife I'd dropped so that I was holding it more firmly. "That's how you hold a knife. Remember that when you train. And thank Arran for teaching me."

I glanced at Arran and forced a smile. "Thank you."

He snorted, turned and walked off. His two female allies then followed, Percy more reluctantly and after giving me a kind pat of the shoulder. I glanced after them for a second, thinking that there was something weird about their alliance. And yet I knew there was a purpose it existed…

I broke out of my train of thought as a trainer jumped in front of me. This time, I didn't drop my dagger.

"Hey kid. Scores are later today and learning how to handle a knife could really help budge yours up. Want me to help you?"

"Yes," I smiled up at him.

"Great, lets get started," he said, leading me towards a dummy. "I see you've already learned how to hold a dagger – been reading the instruction manuals?"

"Something like that."

* * *

Training felt exhilaratingly productive. I learned the basics and even sparred with a dummy – then the trainer, who I had beat (though he admitted he was going _very_ easy on me) and then I trained with the District Eleven girl. My match with her had almost ended in a stalemate, though she gained an upper hand towards the end.

Still, I felt a lot more confident. I wouldn't be hunting down Careers anytime soon – but who would? A middling score would be enough.

Lily and Silas were still together at a mutt identifying station. I wiped some sweat off my brow and approached them, listening to a round faced trainer with a calm voice explain something to them:

"It was developed to give the fleet a gruesome end," she said, gesturing to one of the cutest birds I had ever seen. It had wide eyes and sung a beautiful melody. I smiled at it and gently extended a finger, leading for my allies and the trainer to gasp at it jumped on my finger.

"Tamal!" Lily said. "That thing is dangerous."

"It's cute," I smiled. I'd always been more comfortable around animals than people.

"It's a black tit," the mentor explained to me nervously as I shovelled some birdseed from the counter onto my palm and let it feed. "Its beak looks harmless, but its designed to burrow right into the chest cavity. It can detect heartbeats – even from miles away, and that's what it eats. Hearts."

"And birdseed," I smiled as it fed from my palm.

"Seriously Tamal you should probably put that thing back where it came from," Silas said cautiously. But with a trainer around, I doubted I was in too much trouble. When I saw a few Peacekeepers in the vicinity with their guns, and more mutt trainers equipped with tranquillisers, I knew that was the case. And it couldn't have been one of the more dangerous, rabid or bigger mutts – they were caged. "Animals are simple, in a way. They only attack to survive. If you're nice to them, they're usually nice to you. But have some meat on hand for the carnivores so that you're not the meat."

The trainer pursed her lips.

"Remember mutts are _programmed_ to attack senselessly – they're not products of evolution and survival, but of human will," she tranquillised the bird in my hand and I looked with dismay as she stuffed it into the cage. I wondered what they'd do to the animals once training was over… I hoped they weren't killed, disposed as soon as they served no purpose. "Still, I have to admit you have quite the way with it."

I shrugged.

"You're like a fairytale princess," Lily joked, leading Silas and the trainer to chuckle. Immediately after the lunch bell rang and we made our way to the cafeteria.

"So how did the whole knife thing work out?" Silas asked me as we waited in the lunch queue. "You going to go all ninja on the tributes in the arena now?"

"Not quite," I smiled. "But I feel a little more confident."

"You should be confident," Silas said, patting me on the shoulder in a way that felt spookily similar to how Percy had done the same earlier. "You're great. Remember that."

"Not like you," I said meekly.

It was true. Silas seemed kind of like that ideal guy you heard about. He was tall, dark, handsome, confident, kind, had a loving relationship and by the sounds of it a lot of friends. But on top of that he was a guy of principle – not afraid to speak his mind, not scared of what the Capitol had to offer. He was even a better painter than I was, and not afraid to add meaning to his paintings.

"Better than that," he smiled again.

After carefully selecting a meal that seemed nutritious albeit disappointing compared to the stuff we got only upstairs – I stuck with rice and vegetables – we manoeuvred around tables now filled with alliances to find our own lunch table.

"Thank god for lunch, I'm starving," Lily announced, taking a bit bite into her lettuce-laden baguette.

"I prefer dinner and breakfast at this place," I admitted, playing around with my food a lot. Most tributes gained weight in the Capitol – that was the idea, to fatten up the usually emaciated tributes before they were sent to an arena where they could potentially starve. But I hadn't had much of an appetite thanks to the circumstances. I was willing to bet I'd lost weight if anything.

"Like your junk food?" Silas asked before he tucked into his pasta.

"Actually not really."

"I… I don't know much about you Tamal," Lily admitted. "So, what's your deal?"

"My… deal?"

"Your background, your story, what makes you you?"

I smiled and shook my head. "Oh, there's nothing interesting about me."

"Come on, just say," Lily smiled, joking: "Or do you have something to hide?"

I felt uncomfortable going into my background. It wasn't something strangers really needed to know. But Lily and Silas seemed nice enough that I could disclose to them. "I grew up in a Hindu family," I immediately saw Lily's puzzled look. "One of the old god worshipping religions, I was happy there. But then I… I liked a guy.'

I looked at them for judgment, relieved when there was none.

"Your parents didn't take it well?" Lily asked,

"No," I shook my head. "They kicked me out."

There was an awkward silence. Silas chewed a mouthful of pasta contemplatively, and Lily stopped eating her food completely as she tried to digest what I had said.

"I'm really sorry to hear that," she eventually spoke.

"It's ok," I smiled. "It doesn't all end miserably. A new family – a family that love me, basically adopted me. And I'm with the guy I like… I mean, Graham. He's my boyfriend."

Lily put her hands to her heart. "What, no? Seriously? That's so sweet. I'm jealous. I've always wanted to be with someone… It's been my dream. But I guess I should be thankful now. I haven't got to leave anyone behind. Enough people will have their heart broken when – if – I die already…"

"It's still worth it," Silas said silently. I knew he also had a girlfriend back at home. We only discussed her once briefly – her name was Julia or something. But I heard the adoration dripping from his tone whenever he spoke of her. I hated to admit it, but I think he could've maybe even loved her more than I loved Graham… and I loved Graham more than anything. "It doesn't make it hurt any less. But it's worth it."

I decided to break the sombre mood after a few silent minutes where we seemed to only play with our food.

"But District Seven _is_ an interesting place to live," I piped nervously. "All the forests and stuff. Want to hear about it?"

Lily smiled, knowing exactly what my intention was but going along with it. "Of course."

* * *

 **Tesni Rosette, District 9, 18**

"What makes her so hard to get hold of?" Bella incredulously asked Raleigh and Alina, sweeping the waterfall of ringlets behind her shoulder as she tucked into a casserole.

"She moves like lightning, between training stations," Raleigh said. "But I have to say she is mighty impress-"

"She didn't want to talk to us, I don't think," Alina said bluntly, disappointment in her tone. "She doesn't want to talk to any of us."

Bella didn't react at first. Then her face wavered.

"Right," she said, slamming her palms onto the table and making all of us jump. I almost spilt some water down my front, and years of conditioning made me wince – I could hear my mother's taunts and shrieks in my mind. "That is about to change. I just need to find her."

I noticed her. It was hard not to, considering there was just something so _different_ about the Thirteens. She stood in the lunch queue, relatively tall, muscular, sharp cheekbones and grey eyes that glinted like a blade and pierced you in a similar manner.

"O-Over there," I said shyly, gesturing.

Bella's eyes darted over to the Thirteen girl, who had her food loaded onto a plate by an Avox. I couldn't help but notice she'd only taken a conservative amount. When she began to waltz around in search for a lone table, Bella called out to her loudly:

"Thirteen!" She even waved her arms. All eyes were probably on us, and I stared at my lap and trembled.

The Thirteen girl look at Bella, her face torn between disgust, confusion and offense. I could tell in her body language that her instinct was to immediately turn around and ignore Bella completely.

"Come over here! We have a proposition!" Bella stood up, gesturing and smiling a welcoming smile.

The girl's features softened. I can tell instinctively she still wanted to be far away, but curiosity drove her into Bella's honey trap. She moved to the table, though didn't sit down. Instead she held her tray, looking at Bella with pursed, thin lips. I couldn't help but admire Bella's brazenness and confidence – once upon a time, I was like her.

"What do you want?"

"It's quite the proposition so I think you'll want to sit down," Bella patted an empty seat to her left. The Thirteen girl looked like she was ready to bolt. "Come on. We won't bite – especially not during the pre-Games. Do you want some of our food?" The Thirteen girl's eyes flickered to all of us individually, lurking on me after I refused her eye contact. "You want Tesni's food?" Bella stole a few of my fries with her hand and ate one. "Come, come, help yourself."

"The moment I don't like this," the girl spoke clearly for the first time in a gritty, unfamiliar accent. Her voice had strength to it, but I couldn't help but notice there was still something so defeated about her. I liked to think of myself like that – defeated, but with the strength to persist regardless. "I'm leaving. Are we clear?"

"Well you are going to like this," Bella smiled, shovelling some of my food onto the girl's plate. "I'm Bella, that guy is Raleigh, that girl is Alina and next to me is Tesni. What's your name? I'm sure you want to know about the Districts – we certainly want to know about Thirteen."

"I'm Epsilon," the girl finally said, tucking into her food and taking a conservative sip of water afterwards. "And I don't want to know about the Districts."

"Well, we would quite like to know about Thirteen," Bella smiled, unperturbed. I made eye contact with Raleigh and Alina, who were strangely as quiet as we were. We knew it were best if we left Bella to work her networking magic. "And regardless of if you want to know about what District Eight's bird or anthem is, I'm sure you do want to know about the Hunger Games. It's alien to you all, right?"

"Not completely," Epsilon said, shaking her head. "We knew you guys had this sick game. It's the prime example of the awful nation that is Panem. You send a bunch of kids in, and they all have to fight each other to the death until one's left."

"Something like that," Bella said nonchalantly, looping spaghetti around her fork and looking up and Epsilon intently. "And it ends there?"

"No, my… advisor…"

"Mentor," Alina piped up helpfully, though she pursed her lips under Epsilon's steely gaze.

"-Mentor helped tell me other things. About the vanity of the chariots, the training and the so-called Careers – the Capitolian lapdogs you all despise. If I'm going to have to kill to survive, I will murder them first."

"You seem strong," Bella remarked. "How are you trained?"

"It's compulsory we be trained in the art of combat and war, because it was all our duty to defend our nation… little good it did us."

"You do know being strong and knowing how to fight is a huge asset in these Games, especially if you really can hold your own against a Career," Bella smirked. "Are the concept of alliances one you're familiar with?"

"The lapdogs pair up," Epsilon said. "I didn't know anyone else did until I saw you all do it days ago. Aren't you supposed to kill each other?"

"We're supposed to survive," Bella looked into Epsilon's eyes with her own warmer, less hardened ones. "That's the goal. We can help you survive. Alina is a mechanic – Raleigh is stronger than most of the lower District tributes, and we all know how the Hunger Games functions, sponsoring and the like. I see your District partner has already made a friend," Epsilon's eyes darted over to the Thirteen and Five boys who talked amicably and excitedly. "If you're serious about surviving you should follow in his steed."

"What if I don't want to?"

"What can I do to make you change your mind?"

"Promise you won't kill me."

"I won't kill you," Bella said bluntly.

"And your friends?"

"Not me," Alina said.

"Nope," Raleigh chimed.

All eyes were briefly on me. The promise was foolish – but the consequences of saying I couldn't make that promise were probably even worse. I cleared my throat. "Do I look like I could kill you?" I asked. The joke didn't seem to go down well. "N-No. I promise."

Epsilon assessed us all briefly.

"So how does this alliance thing work? Must we train together?"

"Not if you don't want to."

"I don't."

"See you in the arena then," Bella smiled. Epsilon grabbed her tray and stood up, but Bella reminded her: "However, if we are to survive we need strategy. I expect you to convene with us occasionally so that you are in the know."

Epsilon nodded briefly and made her way away just as the lunch bell rang. There was something almost awkward about her, despite the steadfastness she carried about.

"Anyway, scores soon," Bella smiled to us warmly immediately, dropping her diplomatic and bargaining façade. "Epsilon has the right idea. We need to get in that important last minute training."

"I'm going to try and get a knack of ranged weapons," Raleigh said, finishing off his food and standing. "If any of you want to join me."

"I will," Alina said, smiling.

"So will I," I said.

Bella smiled. "Cool. Maybe one of you can be the next Katniss Everdeen," she joked. I looked at her emptily, not getting the joke. "Yeah, that reference is dated. Luster Harbetto. But the point still stands. I, meanwhile, think I want you get to know our new ally a little better. I can get her to warm up."

Raleigh and Alina stood and made their way back to training. I looked at Bella, my gaze probably looking suspicious by how she raised an eyebrow at me.

"I'm just impressed with how you got Epsilon on board like that," I said, cupping my chin. I'd learned to be a little less shy around Bella, somehow. "You make a great leader, Bella."

"And you're too kind, Tesni," Bella smiled at me, standing and folding down any creases in her training shirt.

"I mean it," I said, standing with her. "W-Where did you learn to be so confident?"

"Life."

"And Raleigh is also smart and he looks kinda tough, and Alina is stupidly bright," I blushed a little as the inevitable conclusion hit me. "I-It makes me wonder why you let a girl like me in. Why you let me hang about. I could maybe see you as a Victor… maybe…"

Bella shook her head and her eyes flickered over me.

"I think you know why," she said frankly, stroking my cheek. "Little Tesni, you're just so easy to manipulate and you don't even know it, but I see it in the way you look at me. You're going to be so much more useful than you know."

I blinked and Bella then burst into laughter.

"Psyche!" She patted my shoulder. "Don't put yourself down, Tes," I'd never had that nickname before and I kind of liked it. "You have heart and I can trust you. That's all that matters. Now go train with Raleigh and Alina, then I'll meet up with you right before scoring, ok?"

"Ok," I smiled unsurely, forcing a tentative chuckle. Bella frolicked away and I nervously made my way towards the archery station, where Raleigh was struggling to even load an arrow, let alone fire one.

When I approached Raleigh and Alina, Alina turned around and smiled at me.

"Nice to have you with us Tesni," she said. "We thought that you were scared of us."

"Uh, why?" I scratched my head.

"We haven't seen much of you," I could tell she noted my awkwardness. Alina was an interesting girl. In many ways, plain, but interesting in how she seemed to be some mesh of contradictions: sweet, but also quite blunt and cynical. "Raleigh and I are hopeless at archery so maybe you have a knack for it. The bow is on the rack over there," she gestured.

I noticed a trainer made his way to Raleigh and Alina to help them learn as I made my way to the rack. As I got to the rack I observed all the different bows – some made of wood, some metallic, some large and wide and others more narrow. Some were almost beautiful and artful. I traced my finger down a lion that had jutted from the top of one bow, then stroked the multitude of arrows laid besides them. I knew nothing about weapons. I knew little about anything, really. Were some bows more useful than others in different regards?

I decided to grab a bow at random when I seemed to seize it at the same time as another tribute. The paler hand almost clasped mine, but then immediately moved away and rest at the end of the table.

I noticed the boy as the Three boy. He had large eyes that seemed to be almost enveloped by his pupils, choppy hair and the trace of stubble began to dot itself around his small, youthful face. Something about him scared me, even though he was thin and short: there was something off about him. But now something even seemed even more peculiar.

Maybe it was the way he was heaving. Maybe it was the faint smell of iron that accompanied the sour smell Xavier had complained about him having last night over dinner.

"Hey," I decided to be polite, but trembled. "A-Are you okay?"

"I'm free," he smiled up at me. I noticed his teeth were bloody. "I'm finally free."

"You're… what?" I swallowed nervously.

"I'm free!" he said again even more triumphantly, as if my presence had awoken the crazy. "Free from the constraints of a body, free!" He stepped back and suddenly I noticed why he had alarmed me: in one hand he held a bloodied dagger. I was worried he was going to hurt me, but budding red that grew around his stomach made me realise the boy was a much bigger danger to himself.

Still, I stepped back as he collapsed and laughed manically on the floor, coughing up blood.

"He's stabbed himself!" I shouted out immediately, dropping to my knees and pushing my hands down onto his wound to try and prevent any more bleeding. Blood squelched on to my hand as I continued screaming, tears beginning to roll down my face. "Help!"

Peacekeepers and what looked like medical Avoxes surrounded us immediately as the room once again descended into panic. When I looked at his eyes rolling into the back of the head, a small part of me feared that they had been too late – I had been too late.

* * *

 **So, I decided to (very, very belatedly – apologies) break from the Friday tradition to give you a Christmas update. There will also be a New Years update. Then another one most likely the Friday after the following Friday (catch my drift?), so apologies for the confused schedule! Until February/March updates are going to feel sporadic and sparse.**

 **… So, can I get to 200 reviews by next chapter? That'd be a nice Christmas gift.**

 **Merry Christmas!**

 ** _~Toxic_**


	13. Star of the Show

**Titan Bard, District 2, 18**

Once the Nine girl let out a scream of utter terror, chaos erupted. All of the tributes stopped training to look towards the scene of the commotion, and the majority rushed to it and let curiosity get the better of them. Rosario and I were in the latter camp.

We were swordfighting, the metal blades screeching as they clashed against each other. I was pretty sure I was gaining the upper hand too when Rosario just dropped the sword and rushed to where the chaos erupted. I followed behind him more tentatively.

I'd seen people hurt before, I'd _killed_ before as was compulsory in District Two's academy. But the sight was still unpleasant – the District Three boy lying on the floor, his maddened laughs growing quiet as he slipped into death. There was a lot of blood, most of it coming from a single, nasty stomach wound. Medics surrounded him, trying to keep him stable as they propped him onto a stretcher and rushed him away.

Residual shock and commotion remained even after the Three boy was gone. The Nine girl stayed on the floor, covered in blood and weeping until the District Eight girl finally stooped down to calm her. Everybody else was silent with shock.

Eventually a Gamemaker came into the room. Her skin had turned as pale as her blonde hair as she surveyed the scene and the blood on the floor.

"Clean it up," she said emptily to a few Avoxes before looking at the tributes. "Training is still to continue. Carry on as before."

"What about Syncis?" The boy's tiny District Partner asked, her small voice loud with the assistance of the wide room. The Gamemaker looked at her emptily and began to walk away, ignoring as she shouted again: "What about Syncis? Is he ok? Is Syncis ok?"

People seemed to reluctantly go back to business as usual, hovering back over to their training stations. But they didn't train, they instead mumbled quietly amongst themselves about what had just happened. As I made my back towards the sword training area with Rosario, from the corner of my eye I could see as one of the trainers tried to calm the Nine girl and unsuccessfully remove the blood from her training outfit.

Something told me the last hour of training wouldn't involve much training.

"That was brutal, huh?" I said, picking up my large sword effortlessly as Rosario picked up his lighter one, looking me in the eyes.

"I suppose," he said indifferently, trying to strike. I parried, knocking his sword away from my general direction and adopting a more defensive stance. "Though it's one tribute out the way. May be one less kill we could have on our scoreboards, but we're not going to be picky now, are we?"

* * *

I was somewhat relieved when the bell rang and we were all moved into a waiting room. Something about the training centre now seemed off. I theorised that when death happened under specific circumstances – circumstances where it was _acceptable_ and _expected_ , such as an execution or a legal fight to the death, I could deal. But when it happened out of nowhere I was left dumbstruck in its wake.

"But is he _really_ dead?" Jordyn asked Pip as I sat down beside them, observing all the other tributes as they poured into the room nervously. "We didn't know for sure."

"Capitolian medicine isn't _that_ good," Pip snorted, picking up one of the dated magazines the Capitol often left tributes to entertain themselves while they waited to be called. Soon all the tributes were seated, some silent as death, others talking eagerly amongst each other. "Did you see the hole in his stomach? No way is he alive."

"It depends if they got him in on time," I said quietly, swallowing. Rosario was right, it was better that the kid die – for myself, and judging from the brutality of the Games, perhaps for him too. "The Capitol are miracle workers. They can fix so many injuries and ailments with a click of their fingers. But they can't bring people back from the dead… Nothing can."

There was a moment of silence. I reflected on my own mortality: even Careers had something to lose and the future was still scary. I listened to the lower District kids talk amongst themselves before what I presumed was a Junior Gamemaker came into the room, accompanied by Peacekeepers, clipboard in hand.

"Jordyn Rossi, the Gamemakers would like to see you," she said with a sweet smile. We all looked at Jordyn, nodding at her to wish her luck, before she stood up and made her way out. All of the tributes' eyes followed her, and burned into the doorway once she was out.

This was it. We were being scored.

"Feeling confident?" I asked Pip.

Her narrow eyes flickered over to me. She was quite good at showing next to go emotion, though I definitely got the feeling there was a _lot_ brewing up inside her.

"Confident?"

"You need an eight to get in. Do you think you can get that?"

"Yes," Pip said resolutely.

"And if you don't?"

"We'll kill her, in the Bloodbath," Rosario said loudly, having eavesdropped on our conversation. His bold voice, and the malicious contents of his words, led some of the lower District kids to turn and face us. "You may not be good enough for the Careers, but I've seen you around – you'll be better than the average lower District scum. Plus you know too much."

Pip and Rosario's eyes met for a second. Rosario showed the trace of a smirk. Pip's expression refused to change, though I could tell it was a conscious effort and in her head she was probably castrating Rosario.

"If I don't get in, I'm confident I can make it on my own. I'll grab a few supplies and get out of there, who knows, maybe I'll have time to kill someone."

Rosario was about to retort when the Junior Gamemaker came into the room, calling out:

"Rosario Vogel! The Gamemakers want you."

Rosario kept his gaze on Pip, the smirk etched on his face as he strode out of the room and into the training centre. An awkward silence followed. I glanced opposite, noting the Fours both looked at the scene with some trepidation and then began whispering to each other.

"You know that if you don't make it, we're adversaries," I told Pip, biting my lip slightly and looking at her seriously.

"Yes."

"That means I can't help you," I explained.

"Titan, I may not have went to your fancy academy," Pip folded one leg over the other and put the magazine she had picked up back down – she had barely read even the front page. "But at least give me the benefit of the doubt of knowing how the basics work, please."

"Right, um, sorry," I forced a smile. "I'm just saying… If Rosario is after you there's only so much I can do… But District loyalty matters. I make this promise to you _while_ we're allies, at the Bloodbath I will be by Rosario's side and if he goes for you I'll try to occupy him. Get as many supplies as you can but the moment you see him coming for you run."

"Do you think little old Rosario scares me?" Pip laughed.

"No," I told her bluntly. "But I don't think you're stupid either."

"Agrippa Wilder, your turn!" The voice called, barely opening the door.

"Good luck," I told her.

She smiled. It was warm – or something other than the icy cold aura Pip loved to exert. "You too, Titan," with that she stood up and left the room.

I was left alone. I considered picking up the magazine Pip read and to go through it, but instead I found myself observing everyone else. Yveaux and Lillee continued to talk. Yveaux whispered something that made Lillee roll her eyes, unimpressed, before giggling slightly.

Most of the others had broken out of the traditional District boy-girl seating we initially formed. The alliances this year were definitely interesting. There were a few solid ones – maybe even ones that could be threats. The Three girl sat with the Twelve boy and Seven girl, they talked quietly and resolutely and I didn't like the way they looked at me and then looked at the Fours. I considered confronting them over it, but remembering how Lillee had gotten into trouble after attacking the Three girl earlier today decided it wasn't worth it.

There were others: the Seven and Nine boy seemed to have formed a comfortable albeit unthreatening alliance with the Ten girl. The biggest alliance so far consisted of the Eight, Nine and Five girls and the Ten boy, though other than the boy I couldn't see them being too much of a threat beyond their numbers.

Then there were two pairs: the Five and Thirteen boy, two odd individuals in an odd alliance, and District Six really took District loyalty seriously and had buddied up together. He was extremely unremarkable – but we all knew Roxanne Maxwell herself was extremely remarkable. I kept my eye on her as she talked to her District partner, pointing out something in a magazine to him.

I wondered if she was overrated, if she really did have a chance like some Hunger Games commentators made out, or if she was just another little scared District kid. Maybe both of those options had a pinch of truth to them. But whatever happened, I needed her dead.

"Titan Bard!"

I must have daydreamed and thought about the Six girl quite a little. Taking myself back to planet earth, I stood up and followed the Junior Gamemaker into the training centre. I was surprised by how quickly it had been remodelled, and when there was nobody in there you really felt just how huge it was – arena sized, if not bigger.

The Gamemakers were a dot in the horizon as I entered the room, but stepping closer I moved closer. It was all the Senior ranking members: Tobias Harte, Ruth Pierce, a blonde girl, an aged woman, the twins, a burly armed man and a new member, a freckly fresh faced girl who must have barely been out of University.

"You have fifteen minutes to show us what you've got," Tobias said clearly, looking me in the eye. A few Gamemakers were already jotting down notes – judging me immediately by my physical appearance and how I acted. It was intimidating.

I nodded, immediately making my way over to the sword station. Years of training had burrowed down to this moment – and many other moments, but I needed a good score so I could grab sponsors and maybe stand out from the other tributes if not the other Careers.

I was worried the methodical way I was thinking made my technique more rusty and tentative, but I wanted the Gamemakers to know I knew how to hold a sword. Lifting it, and running towards the dummies so I could show its immense weight couldn't hold me down, I swung it furiously at the dummies.

In a few sharp swings I was slicing through them with brute strength – an unstoppable juggernaut. My attacks were so ferocious and strong in many instances I immediately bisected some of the dummies. I was panting and sweating but trying not to let it show. I knew that alone would have been enough to get me the eight I wanted.

But I could show them more.

I rushed over to a shelter building station, knowing that when it came to scoring the Gamemakers often appreciated innovation. I couldn't think of anything much stronger than bricks – other than metal itself, which I _wasn't_ strong enough to break. I slammed my sword into piles of them, creating a storm of copper dust as I hacked into the bricks, my strength enough to cut through piles of them in a single swing.

Confident I had created enough carnage; I turned to the Gamemakers and bowed, rising with a slightly goofy grin. I felt somewhat deflated when they weren't applauding. Most of them were showing no signs of appreciation whatsoever. Some were even beginning to tuck into food or drink.

… What if I was good, but I'd shown the Gamemakers nothing they hadn't seen before? What if to them I really was just another Career on the academy's conveyor belt? Knowing confrontation could lead to my score being lowered, I spoke, my voice being a little shaky.

"Thank you very much."

Some of them took notes as I walked out of the room.

* * *

 **Lillee Duraton, District 4, 18**

Tributes left the waiting room but once scoring started few entered it. Unexpectedly, one was ushered in. The Three boy looked somewhat dazed as if he had just woken up. I'd never seen him look so calm before – I remembered how antsy and anxious he seemed on the chariot ride.

So he lived. A small part of me was happy, but I immediately remembered how futile that happiness was – his life had been prolonged by potentially no more than a day and a half. Saving it could have arguably been seen as pointless, but the Capitol naturally weren't done with him yet. They really did enjoy playing with their food and eating it.

I was puzzled when a few tributes – primarily ones from the lower District – stood up and applauded him being alive. Yveaux even joined them, his claps and cheers being the loudest, because of course they were.

"Ok, ok," the girl grabbed the Three boy's shoulders and began to usher him out of the room. It he wanted to protest, he was too dazed to. "The party is over, we get it, he's alive, but it's now his turn."

And then he was gone as soon as he appeared. As he was ushered out, the room immediately fell silent. Those who had stood to applaud then sat down awkwardly. I glanced at Yveaux.

"What were you cheering for?"

Yveaux shrugged. "Everyone else was, it wasn't hurting nobody. Why not?"

"Oh, are you a sheep now are you?" I rolled my eyes.

"Baa," Yveaux smirked, making a relatively convincing sheep noise. "Baa, I'm a sheep, I just need a lovely lady from District Ten to herd me up and to-"

I punched his arm hard and he was silenced, rubbing his arm afterwards and glaring at me.

"No, you stay away from District Ten girls," I glanced over to Lily, who was cordially conversing with her new allies. It was obvious the fallout from her makeout session with Yveaux had torn her apart from her District partner – they once hung out together, now they were nested in completely separate alliances. "Last time you wanted one to herd you up you got into _way_ too much trouble."

"It was almost worth it," Yveaux smirked. "I bet you want to try some of what she had."

"What?"

"Don't deny you want a piece of the Yveaux."

"Carry on," I smirked. "And I will want a piece of you-" I dashed his hopeful expression. "Your head on a spike."

Yveaux looked disappointed and for a brief second I _felt_ disappointed in myself. I could probably kill the other Careers without really thinking – especially Rosario. They were all detached and cold. But Yveaux felt _human_ and _different_. He annoyed me, he made me laugh and he told me about his relatively normal family life back at home – with some hesitation, mind, which made me feel he had his own issues, dreams, hopes, likes, dislikes… When I looked at him and then glanced at a lower District kid, terrifyingly, I was beginning to see very little difference except Yveaux being much more annoying and being a trained killer.

That was all I needed to remind myself – he was a _trained killer_. Once the Games started the joker façade, the wannabe lothario and the little puppy aspects of Yveaux's personality that I saw would go and he would kill as brutally and senselessly as all the others would.

"Hey, Lil, everything okay?" Yveaux waved his hand in front of me. I blinked.

"Oh, yeah," I forced a smile. The Careers really did have no idea what I had in store for them. I glanced behind him and briefly glanced at Frankie, Arran and Percy, who all sat together but didn't seem to be talking much. "Just deep in thought is all."

"Francine Thales-Wren, it's your turn!"

Frankie stood up calmly, and Percy stood up with her and gave her a hug of good luck before she left the room. It was nice how they seemed to be getting close. I hoped Frankie would look my way so I could gesture to her that I wished her the best, but she was smarter, less emotionally attached or both compared to me. I watched her leave the room and prayed she got that six somehow.

Yveaux wasn't the most perceptive man, but even he caught my lingering gaze and followed the trail.

"You think she's a threat?" He said, referring to Frankie.

I was slightly taken aback, but then forced a sceptical snort. "Pfft, the Three girl – a threat? Seriously?"

"She survived the rebel attack. Titan told me she was frighteningly calm and collected through the ordeal."

"You saw the way I picked her up and threw her for daring to steal my weapons earlier today?"

"I guess, it's not all about this though, is it?" Yveaux smiled, showing off his biceps. Any opportunity. But it was also an astute observation from the Four boy. I made eye contact with him for a second.

"No," I said. "No it's not."

"You're cool, Lil. I hope you know that."

"What makes you say that?"

"I just guess it feels like everyone else in the alliances doesn't take me seriously," Yveaux shrugged. "Treats me like a kid."

I smirked. "You can't blame them?"

This time he punched my arm – I could tell he was being easy on me though. " I guess not. But nobody has taken me seriously before. I get I can be a doofus, or that I like the company of women a _little_ too much. But you know, it's nice when someone speaks to me normally every once in a while."

"You have low standards," I said, eyeing him a little suspiciously. "I've been nothing but horrible to you."

"Well… Maybe some people have been-" Yveaux paused, deciding not to pursue the train of thought: "You're the only person who has recognised that."

"What's inspired this change?"

"I guess when you could die, when your life is actually on stake," Yveaux paused. "When this number the Gamemakers give you could in theory influence whether you live or die, you just think a little. It hits you."

"Maybe if you took yourself seriously, others would too," I said to Yveaux.

"I don't want to take myself seriously," Yveaux huffed, folding his arms. "Never have, never will."

"Why?"

"That doesn't warrant an answer, Caesar Flickerman," Yveaux smirked. "What about you? What motivates you?"

I perked up. "Motivates me to what?"

"Every Career goes into this Games knowing full well that they could die, no matter how skilled you are the opportunity is there. Look at Honora. She should have mowed through the Games. If things were just a _little_ different she would have. But there are factors beyond our control and we all have weaknesses," I looked at Yveaux with some interest. "You can't pretend you don't know what you're doing. What you're getting into. So people have powerful reasons for being in the Games. Some people feel they have nothing else to live for. Some people would die for their country and see volunteering as a patriotic act. Some people are just so sadistic they have no regard for life and death in their chase for blood – even their own life is a means to an end. And some people are just impulsive idiots. What are you, Duraton?"

My features remained resolute. "Maybe I'm just an impulsive idiot."

"But there's more to it than that, right? There's a reason someone is an impulsive idiot."

"You should just cut to the chase if there's something you want to say."

Yveaux continued to stare at me. I was the one who trusted Yveaux with turning a blind eye and making sure the Careers kept a blind eye turned – was he smarter than I thought?

"I'm just overthinking," he said, relaxing slightly. His smile returned. "Just you've been training for a while. You were selected by the academy. There's more to you than that boring exterior…" I followed the direction of his gaze. "And, of course, those ti-"

I saw the word coming and slapped his cheek.

"I liked it better when you were looking at my eyes," I said.

"Eyes. Sure."

"Lillee Duraton!" The Junior Gamemaker called. "The Gamemakers are expecting you."

"See you later sugartits," Yveaux smirked.

I shook my head and sighed. "You'll never change, Yveaux." With that I stood up and made my way out of the room, making sure to spare a moment to give a hopefully subtle nod to Arran and Percy as I was led out of the training centre.

The training centre was… different. In two ways: I wasn't used to it being so empty and I wasn't used to it being destroyed. I observed the room quickly to try and see what damage the Careers had done. One of them had pierced dummies with throwing knives and arrows, another had flipped over a few tables, I could see some dummies were completely obliterated… And for some reason there was a crate in the middle of the room.

Well, some high scores were inbound.

"Begin when you feel comfortable," the Head Gamemaker said, smiling at me while his contemporaries jotted down a few note.

I nodded, slowly dipping into a respectful bow. I may have hated how the Games were – as they stood – but after years in the academy I knew how to stroke the Capitol's ego. When I rose, I innocently made my way over to a spear station. I smirked when I saw a few Gamemakers jot down some notes, likely unimpressed: a District Four tribute with a spear. Nothing original.

But I'd trained all my life for this. I knew what was coming.

I used both hands, twisting them to spin the spear in front of me. First, slowly, then within seconds I let the momentum build that it was a blur in front of me and the Gamemakers were unable to discern shaft from blade. For extra effect I let it slice through the floor, screeching and chipping away at the wooden panels as I slowly ambled forwards, then I thrashed it across one of the training station counters so harshly that as the metal screeched, as if in pain, sparks flew and a large cut into the metal was left.

The Gamemakers probably felt that was the best I had to show. It wasn't. Slowing down the spear in my hand I continued to thrust it and slice it through air, before showing off my agility: I kept my posture immaculate, showing immense poise as I began to roll my body into a front flip.

Midair, I kept the spear in hand and slit neatly through the air to show that I was always deadly – even midjump – and landed with grace and precision. For a microsecond I hesitated, but realised that if I wanted to show the Gamemakers the extent of my knowledge. As soon as I landed I used the momentum to almost cartwheel or flip forwards, often only using a single hand to do it, and striking and slicing with every beat.

Soon I was so close to the Gamemakers I could make out the colour of each of their eyes. Keeping eye contact with the Deputy, Ruth, I tried to mask the exhaustion and desire to pant as I turned around and used both hands to launch my spear. It hit a dummy in the archery station square in the chest with such power it impaled it and rolled it off the ground, the spear continuing to fly and tearing through multiple dummies' chests as they lay together on the floor., skewered

That was it. That was all I had to show. The moment I looked at my handwork I knew I had exceeded not just the Gamemakers' expectations, but my own. I may have trained relentlessly for years, but I had never seen it culminate like this. I'd never tried to see the extent of what I could do – a part of me even feared it.

"Thank you," I said bowing again.

The Gamemakers even politely applauded me out of the room. I smirked as the door closed behind me.

* * *

 **Florian Flax, District 11, 14**

"Yveaux Hathers!"

The last Career stood up and walked out of the room confidently. The rest of us wouldn't be so confident, I imagined. We weren't trained for this. We had no idea what was going ahead… Or, some of us did. I at least knew what was in store for me – death. The best thing I could hope would be that it was quick and painless.

The atmosphere seemed to lighten up once the Careers had left the room, I had noticed. They were bullied. They liked to go around while we were training and throw tributes about. This wasn't even a Career option for some of them, or a last resort. They had their own fascination with death: unlike my admittedly unhealthy fixation, theirs was about inflicting it on others. It was ultimately about power.

"Can I have a Miss Alina Parrish?"

Alina was given a hug by her two female allies, the Eight and Nine girls. She seemed like she were about to hug the boy in her alliance, but instead they awkwardly shook hands. And then she was gone.

It was strange to think, that with all the Careers gone in particular, in a matter of weeks every single one of us in this room could be dead. I knew for certain that at best only one would be alive… at least for another few decades. Death always found its way to you eventually. When my brother died, as broken as I was, there was a part of me that was relieved almost every day to be the survivor. But death found an ironic way to catch up to me like I knew it would.

Everyday I would fret that a common cold would turn into a deadly virus. I worried about the little things, as I was positive I was rotting or wilting. Fate had something much worse in store.

"Xavier Day!"

The Five boy bid his ally, the Thirteen boy, goodbye. What they had seemed comfortable. Seemed like it would have been a nice thing to have, if you were going in to a fight for the death – company. In retrospect, it was particularly cruel that the Capitol whisked us all to die in a completely alien place, devoid of all our friends or family.

I glanced to my side and saw that the room had changed substantially – not only because tributes had moved to sit with their allies or had left the room, but the space next to me was no longer empty. Instead the District Eight boy occupied it. He smiled at me.

I hadn't really seen him around, but I had considered him as an ally. No doubt other tributes and maybe spectators lumped us together because we were both the young boys of these Games. I wondered if there were differences between us. I wondered how much he had suffered.

We both _looked_ pretty different, even though tributes often seemed to confuse us for each other. My face was round and my body skinny, his face slimmer but a bulkier body. Where I was pale, he was tanned (both of us defying our own Districts' stereotypes), my hair was thin and blonde, his a mop of darkness. We both had dark eyes – but I think the comparisons really ended there.

And there was something in our demeanours. I had a constant, forced smile on my face. Not that I was happy – I was rarely that. But that was why I smiled so much; it was a decoy that stopped people trying to reach in. Batiste was different – he definitely wasn't afraid to sulk.

"Are you doing ok?" I asked him.

He opened his mouth, but was interrupted:

"Roxanne Maxwell!"

Everyone paused to look at the Games' local celebrity as she stood up and made her way into the training centre.

"Not really," he said honestly.

"Want to talk about it?"

"What's there to talk about? We're in the freaking Hunger Games. Is there anything to talk about?"

I nodded. "Point made."

There was another beat of silence. The Six boy, Kai, was called in before Batiste decided to talk again:

"I knew this wasn't going to be easy, I have a one in twenty-six chance of surviving… That… That's nothing," I looked him in his dark eyes as he continued to talk. I'd always been told I was a good listener – maybe because I wasn't much of a talker. "But I still deluded myself into thinking I could _try,_ that I could do _something_. Nobody wants to be my ally, I honestly don't think I'm really good at anything and… I'm just in a really hopeless situation right now."

"I see," I smiled sadly. "It's okay to cry about it-"

"I'm not going to cry," Batiste hissed, even though he looked slightly teary. He sniffled and wiped his eyes, exhaling and seeming to calm down. Before he had calmed down, the District Seven girl, Percy, was called. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." I said, almost expecting to apology. "So do you have any strategy for winning the Gamemakers over?"

"No… Maybe… Maybe if I could just _talk_ to them or something," he sighed and shook his head. "Do you?"

"Tamal Arbor! Your turn!"

"Dunno, I'll think of something. But I think scores are overhyped. It's what you do in the arena, not in the training centre."

Batiste surveyed me for a second.

"You complained about not having an ally, so did I," he said. "I mean, it could make sense if we…"

"No."

"… Really?"

I turned to him and nodded, feeling mildly bad when he turned his whole body away from me angrily. I touched his shoulder and he flinched.

"You know the chances of me dying in the arena are… Exponential," I said. "I don't want to tie people into that. My ally would rather have gone alone and when it makes me realise how we could all die I don't blame her. If we both make it into the final twelve or something, maybe then… But… J don't know. It's just a no."

"What if I make it into the final twelve and you don't, though?" Batiste snorted. "Fat chance I'll make it so far – but that will be a week of me lonely and in danger in there… With no-one…"

I felt my voice go a little cold as I spoke.

"Then you can just give up, like I did."

Batiste looked at me incredulously. "What?"

"You can just give up like I did," I repeated coolly.

Batiste's eyes widened as if he were looking at a monster. Really, I felt like the person who saw the real me for the first time. Who saw how dark my world was. Who saw the pain behind the young face. I wasn't sure if he was angry, upset or just plain confused, but he was soon quiet.

"Arabella Thern!"

As the Eight girl pranced out of the room, I scanned the room – there weren't many of us left. The Thirteens and Twelves sat alone in silence, and I was pretty sure the Twelve boy was listening in on our conversation with mild interest. Rye also sat alone, two spaces away from me, reading a Capitolian magazine disinterestedly. The Ten girl was with the Nine boy, and the Ten boy with the Nine girl. They talked quietly. But that was it.

"I can't do that," the Eight boy said quietly, his voice devoid of emotion. I knew how he felt, when there was so much going on in your mind it almost reduced what you felt to nothing. "I can't just give up."

"Why?"

"Because even if it's stupid, I have too much to give up on," he said to me quietly.

"Batiste Grayson!" The trainer called into the room again. He kept his eye contact with me for another second before he almost threw himself to his feet and stormed out of the room, leaving a silence that felt electric. A few more names were called: Tesni Rosette, Silas Calder, Lillian Collier…

"What was that about?" Rye said indifferently, her eyes refusing to venture from the magazine she was reading. I glanced at her, shrugging a little bit.

"I guess I can just be mean sometimes."

"You?" She snorted. "You don't have a mean bone in your body."

"People say that," I started, though didn't know where to finish. Instead, I deflected. "Would you say you're mean?"

"I am when the situation demands it," Rye said. She put her magazine down slightly and turned to make eye contact.

"When exactly is that?"

"Sometimes you have to be mean to protect yourself, because other people are mean, or even if they mean well they're doing things that will hurt you," Rye said. "Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. I guess in a place like Panem, on those two conditions alone that means you have to be mean all of the time."

I ruminated on her words for a second. "I suppose it does."

"Raleigh Everett! Yes, young man, it's your turn!"

"I'm sorry if I ever came across as an asshole," Rye said to me, her eyes returning back to the magazine she was reading. She nonchalantly licked a fingertip, using it to turn a page. "It's because I am one."

"But like you said, you have to be one to survive."

"Suppose, name me an angel that survived the Hunger Games… There was another District Eleven tribute who survived years back because a bunch of other people starved, she didn't kill anyone." Rye shrugged. "That's it. Even then, I'm not surviving this thing. Every single person in this room is going to die."

I scanned each face, wincing. But it was true. It was a room filled with people who'd all be dead in three weeks – most likely two, maybe in one. Maybe we'd all be dead within the next forty-eight hours. That was a terrifying thought.

"Raiyah Crahn!"

"See you tonight," Rye said as she stood up and left the room.

"See you," I smiled. My voice was the last noise in the room.

Instead silence filled it up. Earlier the room was filled with allies, now there were only a few of us and we were all silent and sat away from each other. I wondered if this was symbolic of the arena – the tribute makeup would inevitably be different, but the arena would be filled with all of us. Then in time, we'd all be whittled away into the arms of death until there were none of us left. All friendships would dissolve. Soon there'd just be silence where there was once a voice.

"Florian Flax!"

As commanded, I made my way out into the training centre. I didn't know what to expect but I wasn't expecting a room that looked like a stampede or a bomb had gone through it. What was even more unexpected was the state of the Gamemakers – most of them had drunk _way_ too much and were laughing. I supposed I'd drink if I had to do what they had to do.

Only two sober Gamemakers remained: the Deputy Head, who looked bored out of her skull after having to see all of the other tributes, and the Head Gamemaker who at least looked semi attentive.

"I'm Florian Flax," I said out loud, not exactly knowing what to say or do.

The Head Gamemaker smiled. "We know who you are, Flori," the fact he just knew my nickname gave me chills. But the Capitol did have ears and eyes everywhere. "You may begin."

I planned to go to the fire starting station but somebody had already completely sabotaged it, I could make a fool out of myself by trying to show the Gamemakers what I had learned with a knife but that wouldn't cut it either.

I decided to show the Gamemakers I was a semi-decent climber, as was District Eleven stereotype. I scuttled over to the climbing station and somewhat clumsily grabbed onto one of the holds, not even using a harness (because when would they be given to us in the Games anyway)?

A bad score was inevitable anyway. As I climbed awkwardly, I knew the Gamemakers weren't watching me. They'd watch anything over me. Maybe that could be an advantage.

* * *

 **Epsilon Flint, District 13, 17**

"Cassandra Diorite!"

I glanced at the Twelve girl as she made her way out of the room, though strangely I think she shot a glare at me. I didn't know what I had done to offend her.

Especially when I felt like we had something in common. Interestingly, all of us here – including Cassandra, seemed like the quiet ones of the Games. We listened more than we talked. We knew more than we let on.

That didn't stop the instinctive human need to talk to people. Nate had gone and found an alliance. Unlike his District partner, the Twelve boy, who kicked his feet up on the chairs and lay across them nonchalantly, also became part of an alliance. But I knew the type when I looked at them, they were pariahs in Thirteen and I was only one here by virtue of my background: he was a lone wolf and an independent spirit.

Still, in Panem I couldn't blame people who wanted to be one. There was no community. Just competition, dog eats dog – or – a phrase I often heard commentators on the television repeat with no sense of remorse or horror, as if it were factual, _kill or be killed_.

I was initially totally against the concept of an alliance myself. Why would somebody want to team up with people they were meant to kill? Why was that a concept that seemed so integral to the Games?

As the 'pre-Games' went on, I saw why. I kept in so much hurt and loneliness. Yet despite the awful circumstances those in alliances talked, smiled even sometimes laughed. When Nate, who barely spoke a word with me, bonded over goodness knows what with the Five boy and formed a partnership with him I had to confront myself: I was the loneliest I had ever been. Maybe I did need an alliance.

So I joined one. It was technically for convenience, but despite keeping my distance from my new allies I watched them closely, wondering if there would ever be a day I'd join in on their conversations, or a crack a joke to them. But I felt too distrusting. Too shy. Too scared of getting close.

And I didn't know what I thought of District kids – the Districts were a source of controversy and debate in Thirteen. Were they oppressors or the oppressed, victims or accomplices? Some in Thirteen argued it was Panem we were against, and they shared Panem's customs and actively cooperated with the Capitol – in the war we fought soldiers from the Districts more often than ones from the Capitol. Others argued the Districts, especially the lower ones, got the short straw and had no choice. I guessed the experience I had in these Games would tell me which perception was more accurate.

"Arran Taron!"

Only Nate and I were left. Nate was sat across the room but immediately smiled at me.

"Just you and I," he said.

"It's weird to think he should have been the last, but isn't now," I said to Nate. We didn't talk much, but I knew we were both Thirteeners. I still wondered what deluded him into volunteering for this thing, but I hadn't asked properly

"Nobody should have to do this," Nate said.

"Some asked for it. I say let them, if they want."

"That's unfair," Nate replied, my jab being anything but subtle.

"Why are you here? We know I'm here because of bad luck. But you?"

"Because… I…" Nate shook his head. "I'm poor, I had to do this for my family. Since the government no longer provides us with food and we have to earn it ourselves, my family has suffered. We weren't born into high positions like your father – we were factory workers. Not the children of Generals."

I wanted to snap at him for bringing my dead father into this. Instead, I looked at him seriously. "You said your family died in the takeover, Nate. What's the real answer?"

He broke eye contact, his voice cracking. "That's none of your business-"

"You brought my father into this. And every Thirteener is connected, this is all of our business," I said. "How did they die?"

He addressed me without looking my way:

"My family and girlfriend were killed in the takeover. They were brave, unlike me. The only person who couldn't fight… My little sister… I shot her. B-By accident, but still…"

My jaw was left agape.

"This is me redeeming myself for our District by giving them a year supply of extra food and fuel to help us recover after all that tragedy. This is me showing I can be brave after showing immense cowardice. I abandoned Thirteen so I need to redeem myself. So that's why, Epsilon."

"I thought you weren't here to play the game…" I didn't know if I sympathised with him or judged him. While the takeover was devastating, very few people lost their whole family. Very few people killed a member of their family.

"I lied."

"Epsilon Flint!"

* * *

I stayed in place for a minute until I was hassled again to face the monsters who assigned us some silly number for the leeches who enjoyed the Games. When I walked out, trying to keep my expression neutral, Nate was silently crying.

The Gamemasters, or whatever they were, were every bit as obnoxious as I expected them to be. I wasn't expecting the training centre, however, to be so ruined. I ripped a knife out of the floor and looked up at the puppermasters, some of them so drunk they were almost unconscious, the rest were obnoxiously loud. Only two were neither.

"You may start when ready," one of them said with a smile.

I hated doing as I was told, like a circus animal performing tricks. But I knew that if I were to survive, if I had a chance, I had to impress these people in order to impress Capitolites into maybe supporting me – but with the booes I received at the chariot ride, I wondered if that was futile.

Remembering my father's words when he first taught me how to fight, as well as the military commanders that followed, I sprinted towards one of the very few dummies that were still standing. I hoped my speed and agility would impress the Capitolians, but decided if it didn't my strength probably would.

Gritting my teeth, I cried out as I swung an impressive right hook at the dummy's face – just as my dad had taught me. The dummy swung back and recoiled, before I threw a jab. Then a spinkick. My father's face burned into my mind, as well as other friends and neighbours who had been killed in the takeover. I wondered if he'd ever imagine all that he had taught me going into so much bad – into bending for the Capitol's will. Or maybe he would be proud at me for trying to survive for my District.

The next kick I sent was filled with so much rage the dummy snapped off its support, falling to the ground. Gritting my teeth, screaming with rage and pretending it was the Capitolians before me I immediately pounced on it, punching it in its artificial face again and again and again until it waved it. I continued screaming, beating it until blood splattered from my knuckles onto the floor and its constructed skull seemed to cave in under my strength.

"That's quite enough," one of the men seemed to say as time whizzed by. Adrenaline faded and my knuckles began to throb. I could feel their eyes burning on me, and that and the sound of his voice was enough to spur me to continue and punch. "Enough!"

I ignored it. Soon I was grabbed on the shoulders by two Capitolian guards. I managed to shove them away, but they intercepted me again and seized my arms so tightly that I was unable to move.

"Take her out, and drag her to the medical wing before she goes back to her living quarters," a middle aged woman said. I turned and glared at her. She glared back.

* * *

Accompanied by two disgruntled Capitolian guards, I made my way back to our so-called 'living' quarters: it was a basement. A large one, granted, but still. One side featured two stained mattresses accompanied with a few blankets, all too close to a half broken, freezing excuse for a shower. The other a moth eaten couch which faced a much more impressed television.

The rest was emptiness and stone: stone walls, ceilings and floors. One uncomfortable corner still had a leak, where water crept down a pathway of moss and formed a small puddle on the floor.

I glanced at my knuckles, which had been – I was pretty sure – busted. With one scan of some strange device the Capitol immediately repaired them. The Three boy was also on the verge of death, too, and he was just taken away and shoved back into the training centre like nothing was wrong. The medicinal knowledge the Capitol had was astounding, and I wondered how much better it could be if it was used for a common good.

"Oh there you are," I glanced at Tauri, who sashayed around the basement in a dress that looked more expensive than my house. It regarded me with a small smile. "The Capitol would be unimpressed with the dramatics you apparently showed in the training centre today. If this gets to the President he will be most displeased with you."

I made my way into the basement down the wooden stairs and shrugged, noting Nate was sat on the moth eaten couch holding a tray. He must have gone in and got his score.

"Your District partner was just as naughty," Tauri said, glancing at Nate. We both looked at him and I wondered what he had done. "Thankfully the Gamemakers are an _odd_ bunch – they like almost any kind of dramatics as long as it's entertaining. So hopefully your score won't be too dented."

"What did you do?" I asked Nate bluntly as I sat down. I noted the contents of his tray: what looked like hard bread with a little butter, a glass of water and a banana. Tauri walked away and came back, shoving the tray onto my lap with a smile.

"Dinner," Tauri said with a smile. "I managed to convince the Gamemakers they were perhaps being a little too harsh on you, so they agreed to give you some butter with your bread tonight and tomorrow."

"Hooray," I said emptily, considering refusing it. But I needed my strength for the Games. As I tucked in, Nate didn't touch his food.

Tauri continued to walk around the room curiously. On the television, commentators were talking excitedly about last year's games and were showing a boy being hung from a tree by his own innards. It was definitely not something you'd want to eat dinner to.

"You can have mine, if you want," Nate said to me.

"Tauri can have it, if it wants it," I replied.

"They, not it," Tauri scolded, looking genuinely hurt for the first time. 'They' shook 'their' head: "And I'm fine. Do you think I don't have a luxurious lamb roast, from the best stock of District Ten, waiting for me elsewhere? Complete with a great dessert, of course," Tauri sniggered. "You have it Epsilon. Nate can starve he wants to."

"We deserve better than this, this just shows the games are against us," Nate whined. "And I bet you treat the lapdogs even better than the other District kids. It's wrong to be given this hierarchy."

"You will take what you're given after what you did!" Tauri said, snatching Nate's tray and snapping it in two on its knee with a single movement, shards of plate and glass flying everywhere. I jumped back in my seat, wincing. "This place is built for success – it's character building. When Rayann Grace Carter was a political prisoner she was kept here. Now look at her. She made a success out of herself, and is unfortunately alive."

"W-Who?" I said, looking at Tauri as it regained its composure.

"She survived two Games," Tauri explained. "I suppose you mustn't be familiar with her." I shook my head. "She was kept here in this basement as political prisoner. Of course, you mustn't tell anyone you know that– it isn't the official story. But if you told anyone you'd die anyway."

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about," I said honestly.

Tauri rolled its eyes. "Lets just sit down and watch the scores and see how well you both did," it said, sitting down next to me. With the press of a button the channel was changed and an attractive Capitolian spoke to the camera, showing off a blinding smile. His backdrop was the Palace of the Capitol's President, a smoky raven hovering over it.

"We missed the firework show," Tauri told us. "It's a gimmick they have before they score things up."

"Wasn't that great? Now you've had your dinner and gotten to enjoy that dazzling display, here are the scores!"

The scores seemed to flash by pretty quickly – a picture taken of each tribute (I remember mine being taken in the remake centre) followed by a number. The concept was pretty simple: the higher the number, the higher value a Gamemaker deemed them to have. The first four pictures were all lapdogs.

The sour faced District One girl was rewarded a ten, as was her blonde and snooty District partner. A ten was also rewarded to the dumb looking Two boy, and an eight to his skeletal District partner.

"Impressive," Tauri remarked. "But relatively average for Careers."

You could see how these Careers were tougher and stronger once District Three came on screen – the Three girl was rewarded a six, and her District partner a frankly pathetic score: a two.

"He's a Bloodbath," Tauri said.

"A… What?"

"He'll die in the Bloodbath," Tauri answered, eyes still on the television. I glanced as the two tanned Four tributes both got the highest numbers so far: an eleven. I figured that was impressive.

"Oh wow! Wasn't expecting that!" Tauri looked like it was about to sit on the couch, but then deemed it too dirty. "Impressive. An eleven is the second highest you can score, they are your competition. They're who you have to beat. I was hoping after I served a year here I could be promoted to District Four, they hadn't been doing as well as they usually do lately, but Portia may just keep her job after all."

"So they're the deadliest? Could anyone score a twelve?" I asked as the Five girl's face was accompanied by a six and her District partner got a seven. Once again, scores that were low compared to what the lapdogs got.

Tauri laugbed. "Tributes don't get twelves. I mean, it happens every once maybe every couple of decades. If a tribute gets a twelve you better pray to whatever new or old god you worship in Thirteen – they're going to win unless they're a tragic, tragic case."

"So an eleven is still scary?"

"Terrifying."

I gulped. I wanted to win, but I was suddenly realising that although I was tough and strong there were other tributes out there who were tougher and stronger. "And what is the Bloodbath?"

"Did I not say? How foolish of me!" I watched as the Six boy got a five and the girl got a seven. "A seven? I'm not sure if I expected more or less from Miss Maxwell," Tauri said to herself. "The Bloodbath is what happens at the beginning of the game. You're all put together in a close proximity, you can choose whether to go for supplies or not. A lot of people die. It's the bloodiest event of the Games – hence the name."

"Wow," I said, looking as the smiling Seven girl got a nine and her meeker looking District partner got a four.

"Nine! Wow!" Tauri smirked. That same sense of hopelessness came back. This girl wasn't even a lapdog and she got a good score. "What an impressive batch we have this year!"

"C-Could I be a Bloodbath?" I asked. "Be honest."

"We'll see, but if you were trained by your army – mind you, it was pathetic," Nate clenched his fist and I had to show similar restraint. "That Seven boy is a Bloodbath," Tauri said. The innocent Eight girl got a three and her young District partner a four. "And they are too."

"So I should hope to get at least a six or above."

"Five if you don't want to be seen as a hopeless case, eight if you want to be seen as the competition."

The District Nine girl also got a four – hopeless case. Her District partner got a six – not hopeless, but not competition. The pattern seemed to continue in my mind: the Ten girl was a hopeless case with a four, her District partner not hopeless but not competition with a six. The Eleven girl not hopeless but not competition with a five, the sickly Eleven boy was a hopeless case with a three.

With a seven, the Twelve girl almost made it into competition territory. And then her District partner surpassed it – he got a nine. That was competition, and you could tell by looking at him: there was something empty in his eyes. I'd seen that look before in my own. It was the kind of look only someone who had killed before had, only unlike me I had a bad feeling he had no remorse.

"Sponsors will be torn between who to pick this year," Tauri stroked its chin. Then I saw my face, resolute, strong and worn out, as most in Thirteen. I jumped up and almost screamed with delight when I saw the nine that followed.

"I'm competition! I'm competition!" I shouted. Tauri ran up to me and we weirdly seemed to bond for the first and last time ever – jumping up and down together and celebrating. I almost missed, from the corner of my eye, Nate's face appearing next to the lowest number of them all: a one.

I was still giddy with residual joy at my high score, but Tauri immediately deflated and glanced at Nate with nothing but contempt.

"Well, I still won't deem you a Bloodbath as that's not indicative of your abilities," it said. "But you won't get sponsors when sponsors already dislike you enough," owch. "That's what happened when you disobey the Capitol and absolutely refuse to do anything for them. You get a one. You're a hopeless case. Good luck with that."

Nate bowed his head in shame, but I knew something was up.

"A high score helps you survive," I said. Even though I was elated I wish I got a top score – tied with an eleven or maybe wish I could've been the rare phenomenon that apparently gets a twelve. "You said you wanted to feed our District. It makes no sense to disobey them like that. Why do that?"

"Do you want to be a lapdog like them? You have the same score as some of them," Nate said contemptuously. I shook my head.

"That doesn't answer my question."

Nate turned and glanced at me. "I don't want to be a lapdog."

There was something he wasn't telling me – and I wish he did. If this was some way he could help District Thirteen, I wish he would tell me. I would do anything for Thirteen, I would give my life for it. And I feared that giving his life for Thirteen is in someway what Nate was doing. He surely couldn't be a traitor or a saboteur? I refused to believe the lanky redhead before me was. I trusted him more than my own allies.

"Nate, please-"

"Just survive, Epsilon," Nate glanced at me with wet eyes. "Please."

"She might," Tauri's arm affectionately touched my shoulder as it glared at Nate. "Because it's the 'lapdogs', as you so poetically call them, that survive. Useless weeds and wannabes like you do not. You're going to die, but Epsilon is the star of the show."

I wish I could have smiled at Tauri, but I didn't. Instead it was my turn to feel shame. Maybe I was now the star of the show – but it was a show I knew I definitely didn't want to be a star of.

* * *

 **Happy new year! It doesn't count as late if it's still New Year's day, right?**

 **I hope you had a great 2017 (it was better for me than 2016…), and I hope 2018 will be even better. 2018 will see a lot of developments in the Toxicverse (though I doubt it will see the completion of the story – I'm hoping to finish it by spring 2019!)**

 **Sorry Epsilon's part was so big. I guess it did give her some unfair spotlight, but if it's not obvious I'm enjoying exploring the changes of Thirteen being included in the Games, how it changes Thirteen and how it changes the games in general. I'm hoping it's enjoyable enough for you too so that you can forgive me.**

 **And scores! As always, I'll recap the scores here. I say this every year: scores do indicate who is likely to survive but no guarantees! Someone with a high score could be a Bloodbath, someone with a low score could be in the final eight. Popularity, reviews and story potential also matter. Also, pay attention to any gamechangers!**

 _ **Rosario Vogel: 10**_

 _ **Jordyn Rossi: 10**_

 _ **Titan Bard: 10**_

 _ **Agrippa Wilder: 8**_

 _ **Syncis Allomoi: 2**_

 _ **Francine Thales-Wren: 6**_

 _ **Yveaux Hathers: 11**_

 _ **Lillee Duraton: 11**_

 _ **Xavier Day: 7**_

 _ **Alina Parrish: 6**_

 _ **Kai Chiroshi: 5**_

 _ **Roxanne Maxwell: 7**_

 _ **Tamal Arbor: 4**_

 _ **Perseverance Bright: 9**_

 _ **Batiste Grayson: 4**_

 _ **Arabella Thern: 3**_

 _ **Silas Calder: 6**_

 _ **Tesni Rosette: 4**_

 _ **Raleigh Everett: 6**_

 _ **Lillian Collier: 4**_

 _ **Florian Flax: 3**_

 _ **Raiyah Crahn: 5**_

 _ **Arran Taron: 9**_

 _ **Cassandra Diorite: 7**_

 _ **Nate Orison: 1**_

 _ **Epsilon Flint: 9.**_

 _ **~Toxic**_


End file.
